Skip to main content

Full text of "Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge : in two volumes"

See other formats 


LETTERS 


OP 


D.T.COLERIDGE 


VOL  i 


LETTERS 


OF 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 


EDITED   BY 


ERNEST   HARTLEY   COLERIDGE 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.    I 


LONDON 

WILLIAM   HEINEMANN 
1895 

[All  rights  reserved.] 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


INTRODUCTION 


HITHERTO  no  attempt  has  been  made  to  publish  a 
collection  of  Coleridge's  Letters.  A  few  specimens  were 
published  in  his  lifetime,  both  in  his  own  works  and  in 
magazines,  and,  shortly  after  his  death  in  1834,  a  large 
number  appeared  in  print.  Allsop's  "  Letters,  Conversa- 
tions, and  Recollections  of  S.  T.  Coleridge,"  which  was 
issued  in  1836,  contains  forty-five  letters  or  parts  of  let- 
ters ;  Cottle  in  his  "  Early  Recollections  "  (1837)  prints, 
for  the  most  part  incorrectly,  and  in  piecemeal,  some  sixty 
in  all,  and  Gillman,  in  his  "Life  of  Coleridge"  (1838), 
contributes,  among  others,  some  letters  addressed  to  him- 
self, and  one,  of  the  greatest  interest,  to  Charles  Lamb. 
In  1847,  a  series  of  early  letters  to  Thomas  Poole  ap- 
peared for  the  first  time  in  the  Biographical  Supplement 
to  the  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  and  in  1848,  when  Cottle 
reprinted  his  "  Early  Recollections,"  under  the  title  of 
"  Reminiscences  of  Coleridge  and  Southey,"  he  included 
sixteen  letters  to  Thomas  and  Josiah  Wedgwood.  In 
Southey's  posthumous  "  Life  of  Dr.  Bell,"  five  letters 
of  Coleridge  lie  imbedded,  and  in  "  Southey's  Life  and 
Correspondence  "  (1849-50),  four  of  his  letters  find  an 
appropriate  place.  An  interesting  series  was  published  in 
1858  in  the  "  Fragmentary  Remains  of  Sir  H.  Davy," 
edited  by  his  brother,  Dr.  Davy ;  and  in  the  "  Diary  of 
H.  C.  Robinson,"  published  in  1869,  a  few  letters  from 
Coleridge  are  interspersed.  In  1870,  the  late  Mr.  W. 
Mark  W.  Call  printed  in  the  "  Westminster  Review " 
eleven  letters  from  Coleridge  to  Dr.  Brabant  of  Devizes, 


iv  INTRODUCTION 

dated  1815  and  1816 ;  and  a  series  of  early  letters  to 
Godwin,  1800-1811  (some  of  which  had  appeared  in 
"  Macmillan's  Magazine  "  in  1864),  was  included  by  Mr. 
Kegan  Paul  in  his  "  William  Godwin"  (1876).  In  1874, 
a  correspondence  between  Coleridge  (1816-1818)  and  his 
publishers,  Gale  &  Curtis,  was  contributed  to  "  Lippin- 
cott's  Magazine,"  and  in  1878,  a  few  letters  to  Matilda 
Betham  were  published  in  "  Fraser's  Magazine."  During 
the  last  six  years  the  vast  store  which  still  remained  un- 
published has  been  drawn  upon  for  various  memoirs  and 
biographies.  The  following  works  containing  new  letters 
are  given  in  order  of  publication :  Herr  Brandl's  "  Samuel 
T.  Coleridge  and  the  English  Romantic  School,"  1887 ; 
"  Memorials  of  Coleorton,"  edited  by  Professor  Knight, 
1887;  "Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,"  by  Mrs.  H.  Sand- 
ford,  1888  ;  "  Life  of  Wordsworth,"  by  Professor  Knight, 
1889 ;  "  Memoirs  of  John  Murray,"  by  Samuel  Smiles, 
LL.  D.,  1891 ;  "  De  Quincey  Memorials,"  by  Alex.  Japp, 
LL.  D.,  1891 ;  "  Life  of  Washington  Allston,"  1893. 

Notwithstanding  these  heavy  draughts,  more  than  half 
of  the  letters  which  have  come  under  my  notice  remain 
unpublished.  Of  more  than  forty  which  Coleridge  wrote 
to  his  wife,  only  one  has  been  published.  Of  ninety  letters 
to  Southey  which  are  extant,  barely  a  tenth  have  seen  the 
light.  Of  nineteen  addressed  to  W.  Sotheby,  poet  and 
patron  of  poets,  fourteen  to  Lamb's  friend  John  Rick- 
man,  and  four  to  Coleridge's  old  college  friend,  Arch- 
deacon Wrangham,  none  have  been  published.  Of  more 
than  forty  letters  addressed  to  the  Morgan  family,  which 
belong  for  the  most  part  to  the  least  known  period  of 
Coleridge's  life,  —  the  years  which  intervened  between  his 
residence  in  Grasmere  and  his  final  settlement  at  High- 
gate,  —  only  two  or  three,  preserved  in  the  MSS.  Depart- 
ment of  the  British  Museum,  have  been  published.  Of 
numerous  letters  written  in  later  life  to  his  friend  and 
amanuensis,  Joseph  Henry  Green ;  to  Charles  Augustus 


INTRODUCTION  v 

Tulk,  M.  P.  for  Sudbury ;  to  his  friends  and  hosts,  the 
Gillmans ;  to  Gary,  the  translator  of  Dante,  only  a  few 
have  found  their  way  into  print.  Of  more  than  forty  to 
his  brother,  the  Rev.  George  Coleridge,  which  were  acci- 
dentally discovered  in  1876,  only  five  have  been  printed. 
Of  some  fourscore  letters  addressed  to  his  nephews,  Wil- 
liam Hart  Coleridge,  John  Taylor  Coleridge,  Henry  Nel- 
son Coleridge,  Edward  Coleridge,  and  to  his  son  Derwent, 
all  but  two,  or  at  most  three,  remain  in  manuscript.  Of 
the  youthful  letters  to  the  Evans  family,  one  letter  has 
recently  appeared  in  the  "  Illustrated  London  News,"  and 
of  the  many  addressed  to  John  Thelwall,  but  one  was 
printed  in  the  same  series. 

The  letters  to  Poole,  of  which  more  than  a  hundred 
have  been  preserved,  those  addressed  to  his  Bristol  friend, 
Josiah  Wade,  and  the  letters  to  Wordsworth,  which,  though 
few  in  number,  are  of  great  length,  have  been  largely  used 
for  biographical  purposes,  but  much,  of  the  highest  inter- 
est, remains  unpublished.  Of  smaller  groups  of  letters, 
published  and  unpublished,  I  make  no  detailed  mention, 
but  in  the  latter  category  are  two  to  Charles  Lamb,  one 
to  John  Sterling,  five  to  George  Cattermole,  one  to  John 
Kenyon,  and  many  others  to  more  obscure  correspondents. 
Some  important  letters  to  Lord  Jeffrey,  to  John  Murray, 
to  De  Quincey,  to  Hugh  James  Rose,  and  to  J.  H.  B. 
Williams,  have,  in  the  last  few  years,  been  placed  in  my 
hands  for  transcription. 

A  series  of  letters  written  between  the  years  1796  and 
1814  to  the  Rev.  John  Prior  Estlin,  minister  of  the 
Unitarian  Chapel  at  Lewin's  Mead,  Bristol,  was  printed 
some  years  ago  for  the  Philobiblon  Society,  with  an  in- 
troduction by  Mr.  Henry  A.  Bright.  One  other  series  of 
letters  has  also  been  printed  for  private  circulation.  In 
1889,  the  late  Miss  Stuart  placed  in  my  hands  transcrip- 
tions of  eighty-seven  letters  addressed  by  Coleridge  to  her 
father,  Daniel  Stuart,  editor  of  "  The  Morning  Post "  and 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

"  Courier,"  and  these,  together  with  letters  from  Words- 
worth and  Southey,  were  printed  in  a  single  volume  bear- 
ing the  title,  "  Letters  from  the  Lake  Poets."  Miss 
Stuart  contributed  a  short  account  of  her  father's  life, 
and  also  a  reminiscence  of  Coleridge,  headed  "  A  Fare- 
well." 

Coleridge's  biographers,  both  of  the  past  and  present 
generations,  have  met  with  a  generous  response  to  their 
appeal  for  letters  to  be  placed  in  their  hands  for  reference 
and  for  publication,  but  it  is  probable  that  many  are  in 
existence  which  have  been  withheld,  sometimes  no  doubt 
intentionally,  but  more  often  from  inadvertence.  From 
his  boyhood  the  poet  was  a  voluminous  if  an  irregular 
correspondent,  and  many  letters  which  he  is  known  to 
have  addressed  to  his  earliest  friends  —  to  Middleton,  to 
Robert  Allen,  to  Valentine  and  Sam  Le  Grice,  to  Charles 
Lloyd,  to  his  Stowey  neighbour,  John  Cruikshank,  to  Dr. 
Beddoes,  and  others  —  may  yet  be  forthcoming.  It  is 
certain  that  he  corresponded  with  Mrs.  Clarkson,  but  if 
any  letters  have  been  preserved  they  have  not  come  under 
my  notice.  It  is  strange,  too,  that  among  the  letters  of 
the  Highgate  period,  which  were  sent  to  Henry  Nelson 
Coleridge  for  transcription,  none  to  John  Hookham  Frere, 
to  Blanco  White,  or  to  Edward  Irving  appear  to  have 
been  forthcoming. 

The  foregoing  summary  of  published  and  unpublished 
letters,  though  necessarily  imperfect,  will  enable  the 
reader  to  form  some  idea  of  the  mass  of  material  from 
which  the  present  selection  has  been  made.  A  complete 
edition  of  Coleridge's  Letters  must  await  the  "coming 
of  the  milder  day,"  a  renewed  long-suffering  on  the  part 
of  his  old  enemy,  the  "  literary  public."  In  the  mean- 
while, a  selection  from  some  of  the  more  important  is 
here  offered  in  the  belief  that  many,  if  not  all,  will  find 
a  place  in  permanent  literature.  The  letters  are  arranged 
in  chronological  order,  and  are  intended  rather  to  illus- 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

trate  the  story  of  the  writer's  life  than  to  embody  his 
critical  opinions,  or  to  record  the  development  of  his  phi- 
losophical and  theological  speculations.  But  letters  of 
a  purely  literary  character  have  not  been  excluded,  and 
in  selecting  or  rejecting  a  letter,  the  sole  criterion  has 
been,  Is  it  interesting  ?  is  it  readable  ? 

In  letter-writing  perfection  of  style  is  its  own  recom- 
mendation, and  long  after  the  substance  of  a  letter  has 
lost  its  savour,  the  form  retains  its  original  or,  it  may  be, 
an  added  charm.  Or  if  the  author  be  the  founder  of  a 
sect  or  a  school,  his  writings,  in  whatever  form,  are  re- 
ceived by  the  initiated  with  unquestioning  and  insatiable 
delight.  But  Coleridge's  letters  lack  style.  The  fastidi- 
ous critic  who  touched  and  retouched  his  exquisite  lyrics, 
and  always  for  the  better,  was  at  no  pains  to  polish  his 
letters.  He  writes  to  his  friends  as  if  he  were  talking  to 
them,  and  he  lets  his  periods  take  care  of  themselves. 
Nor  is  there  any  longer  a  school  of  reverent  disciples  to 
receive  what  the  master  gives  and  because  he  gives  it. 
His  influence  as  a  teacher  has  passed  into  other  channels, 
and  he  is  no  longer  regarded  as  the  oracular  sage  "  ques- 
tionable "  concerning  all  mysteries.  But  as  a  poet,  as  a 
great  literary  critic,  and  as  a  "  master  of  sentences,"  he 
holds  his  own  and  appeals  to  the  general  ear ;  and  though, 
since  his  death,  in  1834,  a  second  generation  has  all  but 
passed  away,  an  unwonted  interest  in  the  man  himself 
survives  and  must  always  survive.  For  not  only,  as 
Wordsworth  declared,  was  he  "  a  wonderful  man,"  but 
the  story  of  his  life  was  a  strange  one,  and  as  he  tells  it, 
we  "cannot  choose  but  hear."  Coleridge,  often  to  his 
own  detriment,  "  wore  his  heart  on  his  sleeve,"  and,  now 
to  one  friend,  now  to  another,  sometimes  to  two  or  three 
friends  on  the  same  day,  he  would  seek  to  unburthen 
himself  of  his  hopes  and  fears,  his  thoughts  and  fancies, 
his  bodily  sufferings,  and  the  keener  pangs  of  the  soul. 
It  is,  to  quote  his  own  words,  these  "  profound  touches  of 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

the  human  heart "  which  command  our  interest  in  Cole- 
ridge's Letters,  and  invest  them  with  their  peculiar 
charm. 

At  what  period  after  death,  and  to  what  extent  the  pri- 
vate letters  of  a  celebrated  person  should  be  given  to  the 
world,  must  always  remain  an  open  question  both  of  taste 
and  of  morals.  So  far  as  Coleridge  is  concerned,  the 
question  was  decided  long  age.  Within  a  few  years  of 
his  death,  letters  of  the  most  private  and  even  painful 
character  were  published  without  the  sanction  and  in  spite 
of  the  repeated  remonstrances  of  his  literary  executor,  and 
of  all  who  had  a  right  to  be  heard  on  the  subject.  Thence- 
forth, as  the  published  writings  of  his  immediate  descend- 
ants testify,  a  fuller  and  therefore  a  fairer  revelation  was 
steadily  contemplated.  Letters  collected  for  this  purpose 
find  a  place  in  the  present  volume,  but  the  selection  has 
been  made  without  reference  to  previous  works  or  to  any 
final  presentation  of  the  material  at  the  editor's  disposal. 

My  acknowledgments  are  due  to  many  still  living,  and 
to  others  who  have  passed  away,  for  their  generous  per- 
mission to  print  unpublished  letters,  which  remained  in 
their  possession  or  had  passed  into  their  hands. 

For  the  continued  use  of  the  long  series  of  letters  which 
Poole  entrusted  to  Coleridge's  literary  executor  in  1836, 
I  have  to  thank  Mrs.  Henry  Sandford  and  the  Bishop  of 
Gibraltar.  For  those  addressed  to  the  Evans  family  I  am 
indebted  to  Mr.  Alfred  Morrison  of  Fonthill.  The  let- 
ters to  Thelwall  were  placed  in  my  hands  by  the  late  Mr. 
F.  W.  Cosens,  who  afforded  me  every  facility  for  their 
transcription.  For  those  to  Wordsworth  my  thanks  are 
due  to  the  poet's  grandsons,  Mr.  William  and  Mr.  Gor- 
don Wordsworth.  Those  addressed  to  the  Gillmans  I 
owe  to  the  great  kindness  of  their  granddaughter,  Mrs. 
Henry  Watson,  who  placed  in  my  hands  all  the  materials 
at  her  disposal.  For  the  right  to  publish  the  letters  to 
H.  F.  Gary  I  am  indebted  to  my  friend  the  Rev.  Offley 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

Gary,  the  grandson  of  the  translator  of  Dante.  My  ac- 
knowledgments are  further  due  to  the  late  Mr.  John 
Murray  for  the  right  to  republish  letters  which  appeared 
in  the  "  Memoirs  of  John  Murray,"  and  two  others  which 
were  not  included  in  that  work ;  and  to  Mrs.  Watt,  the 
daughter  of  John  Hunter  of  Craigcrook,  for  letters  ad- 
dressed to  Lord  Jeffrey.  From  the  late  Lord  Houghton 
I  received  permission  to  publish  the  letters  to  the  Rev. 
J.  P.  Estlin,  which  were  privately  printed  for  the  Philo- 
biblon  Society.  I  have  already  mentioned  my  obligations 
to  the  late  Miss  Stuart  of  Harley  Street. 

For  the  use  of  letters  addressed  to  his  father  and  grand- 
father, and  for  constant  and  unwearying  advice  and  as- 
sistance in  this  work  I  am  indebted,  more  than  I  can  well 
express,  to  the  late  Lord  Coleridge.  Alas!  I  can  only 
record  my  gratitude. 

To  Mr.  William  Rennell  Coleridge  of  Salston,  Ottery 
St.  Mary,  my  especial  thanks  are  due  for  the  interesting 
collection  of  unpublished  letters,  many  of  them  relating  to 
the  "  Army  Episode,"  which  the  poet  wrote  to  his  brother, 
the  Rev.  George  Coleridge. 

I  have  also  to  thank  Miss  Edith  Coleridge  for  the  use 
of  letters  addressed  to  her  father,  Henry  Nelson  Cole- 
ridge ;  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Thomas  W.  Martyn  of  Torquay, 
for  Coleridge's  letter  to  his  mother,  the  earliest  known 
to  exist ;  and  Mr.  Arthur  Duke  Coleridge  for  one  of  the 
latest  he  ever  wrote,  that  to  Mrs.  Aders. 

During  the  preparation  of  this  work  I  have  received 
valuable  assistance  from  men  of  letters  and  others.  I 
trust  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  mention  the  names  of 
Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  Professor  Knight,  Mrs.  Henry  Sand- 
ford,  Dr.  Garnett  of  the  British  Museum,  Professor  Emile 
Legouis  of  Lyons,  Mrs.  Henry  Watson,  the  Librarians  of 
the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club,  and  of  the  Kensington 
Public  Library,  and  Mrs.  George  Boyce  of  Chertsey. 

Of  my  friend,  Mr.  Dykes  Campbell,  I  can  only  say  that 


x  INTRODUCTION 

he  has  spared  neither  time  nor  trouble  in  my  behalf.  Not 
only  during  the  progress  of  the  work  has  he  been  ready 
to  give  me  the  benefit  of  his  unrivalled  knowledge  of  the 
correspondence  and  history  of  Coleridge  and  of  his  con- 
temporaries, but  he  has  largely  assisted  me  in  seeing  the 
work  through  the  press.  For  the  selection  of  the  letters, 
or  for  the  composition  or  accuracy  of  the  notes,  he  must 
not  be  held  in  any  way  responsible ;  but  without  his  aid, 
and  without  his  counsel,  much,  which  I  hope  has  been  ac- 
complished, could  never  have  been  attempted  at  all.  Of 
the  invaluable  assistance  which  I  have  received  from  his 
published  works,  the  numerous  references  to  his  edition 
of  Coleridge's  "  Poetical  Works  "  (MacmiUan,  1893),  and 
his  "  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  A  Narrative  "  (1894),  are 
sufficient  evidence.  Of  my  gratitude  he  needs  no  assur- 
ance. 

ERNEST  HARTLEY  COLERIDGE. 


PRINCIPAL  EVENTS  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  S.  T.  COLERIDGE 

Born,  October  21,  1772. 

Death  of  his  father,  October  4,  1781. 

Entered  at  Christ's  Hospital,  July  18,  1782. 

Elected  a  "  Grecian,"  1788. 

Discharged  from  Christ's  Hospital,  September  7,  1791. 

Went  into  residence  at  Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  October,  1791. 

Enlisted  in  King's  Regiment  of  Light  Dragoons,  December  2,  1793. 

Discharged  from  the  army,  April  10,  1794. 

Visit  to  Oxford  and  introduction  to  Southey,  June,  1794. 

Proposal  to  emigrate  to  America  —  Pantisocracy  —  Autumn,  1794. 

Final  departure  from  Cambridge,  December,  1794. 

Settled  at  Bristol  as  public  lecturer,  January,  1795. 

Married  to  Sarah  Fricker,  October  4,  1795. 

Publication  of  "  Conciones  ad  Populum,"  Clevedon,  November  16,  1795. 

Pantisocrats  dissolve  —  Rupture  with  Southey  —  November,  1795. 

Publication  of  first  edition  of  Poems,  April,  1796. 

Issue  of  "  The  Watchman,"  March  1-May  13,  1796. 

Birth  of  Hartley  Coleridge,  September  19,  1796. 

Settled  at  Nether-Stowey,  December  31,  1796. 

Publication  of  second  edition  of  Poems,  June,  1797. 

Settlement  of  Wordsworth  at  Alfoxden,  July  14,  1797. 

The  "  Ancient  Mariner"  begun,  November  13,  1797. 

First  part  of  "  Christabel,"  begun,  1797. 

Acceptance  of  annuity  of  £150  from  J.  and  T.  Wedgwood,  January,  1798. 

Went  to  Germany,  September  16,  1798. 

Returned  from  Germany,  July,  1799. 

First  visit  to  Lake  Country,  October-November,  1799. 

Began  to  write  for  "  Morning  Post,"  December,  1799. 

Translation  of  Schiller's  "  Wallenstein,"  Spring,  1800. 

Settled  at  Greta  Hall,  Keswick,  July  24,  1800. 

Birth  of  Derwent  Coleridge,  September  14,  1800. 

Wrote  second  part  of  "  Christabel,"  Autumn,  1800. 

Began  study  of  German  metaphysics,  1801. 

Birth  of  Sara  Coleridge,  December  23,  1802. 

Publication  of  third  edition  of  Poems,  Summer,  1803. 

Set  out  on  Scotch  tour,  August  14,  1803. 

Settlement  of  Southey  at  Greta  Hall,  September,  1803. 

Sailed  for  Malta  in  the  Speedwell,  April  9,  1804. 

Arrived  at  Malta,  May  18,  1804. 

First  tour  in  Sicily,  August-November,  1804. 

Left  Malta  for  Syracuse,  September  21,  1805. 


xiv  AUTHORITIES  REFERRED  TO 

16.  Diary,  Reminiscences,  and  Correspondence  of  Henry  Crabb  Robin- 
son.    Selected  and  Edited  by  Thomas  Sadler,  Ph.  D.     London.     1869. 

17.  A  Group  of  Englishmen  (1795-1815)  :  being  records  of  the  younger 
Wedgwoods  and  their  Friends.     By  Eliza  Meteyard.     1871. 

18.  Memoir  and  Letters  of  Sara   Coleridge    [Mrs.   H.  N.  Coleridge]. 
Edited  by  her  daughter.     2  vols.     1873. 

19.  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge   and  the  English  Romantic  School.     By 
Alois  Brandl.     English  Edition  by  Lady  Eastlake.     London.     1887. 

20.  The  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb.     Edited  by  Alfred  Ainger.     2  vols. 
1888. 

21.  Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends.     By  Mrs.  Henry  Sandford.     2  vols. 
1888. 

22.  The  Life  and  Correspondence  of  R.  Southey.    Edited  by  his  son,  the 
Rev.  Charles  Cuthbert  Southey.     6  vols.     1849-50. 

23.  Selections  from  the  Letters  of  R.  Southey.     Edited  by  his  son-in- 
law,  John  Wood  Warter,  B.  D.     4  vols.     1856. 

24.  The   Poetical  Works   of   Robert  Southey,  Esq.,  LL.  D.      9   vols. 
London.     1837. 

25.  Memoirs  of  William  Wordsworth.      By   Christopher  Wordsworth, 
D.  D.,  Canon  of  Westminster    [afterwards   Bishop  of  Lincoln].     2   vols. 
1851. 

26.  The  Life  of  William  Wordsworth.     By  William  Knight,  LL.  D. 
3  vols.     1889. 

27.  The  Complete  Poetical  Works  of  William  Wordsworth.     With  an 
Introduction  by  John  Morley.     London  and  New  York :   Macmillan  and 
Co.     1889. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  I 


NOTE.  Where  a  letter  has  been  printed  previously  to  its  appearance  in 
this  work,  the  name  of  the  book  or  periodical  containing  it  is  added  in 
parenthesis. 

CHAPTER  I.    STUDENT  LIFE,  1785-1794. 

PAGE 
I.  THOMAS  POOLE,  February,  1797.    (Biographia  Literaria,  1847, 

ii.  313) 4 

II.  THOMAS  POOLE,  March,  1797.     (Biographia  Literaria,  1847, 

ii.  315) 6 

III.  THOMAS   POOLE,  October  9,  1797.     (Biographia  Literaria, 

1847,  ii.  319) 10 

IV.  THOMAS  POOLE,  October  16,  1797.     (Biographia  Literaria, 

1847.  ii.  322) 13 

V.  THOMAS  POOLE,  February  19,  1798.     (Biographia  Literaria, 

1847,  ii.  326) 18 

VI.  MRS.  COLERIDGE,   Senior,  February  4,   1785.     (Illustrated 

London  News,  April  1,  1893) 21 

VII.  KEV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  undated,  before   1790.     (Illus- 
trated London  News,  April  1,  1893) 22 

VEIL  REV.   GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  October  16,  1791.     (Illustrated 

London  News,  April  8,  1893) 22 

IX.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  January  24,  1792         ...  23 

X.  MRS.  EVANS,  February  13,  1792      .        .        .•       .        .        .  26 

XI.  MARY  EVANS,  February  13,  1792  .        .        .    '^  ''•'••  *>  -     .  30 

-   XII.  ANNE  EVANS,  February  19,  1792    .        .        .    ' '  .        .        .37 

XIII.  MRS.  EVANS,  February  22  [1792] 39 

XIV.  MARY  EVANS,  February  22  [1792] 41 

XV.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  April  [1792].     (Illustrated  Lon- 
don News,  April  8,  1893) 42 

XVI.  MRS.  EVANS,  February  5,  1793 45 

XVII.  MARY    EVANS,    February    7,    1793.     (Illustrated    London 

News,  April  8,  1893) 47 

XVIII.  ANNE  EVANS,  February  10,  1793 52 

XIX.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  July  28,  1793      ....  53 

XX.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  [Postmark,  August  5,  1793]         .  55 
XXI.  G.  L.  TUCKETT,  February  6  [1794],     (Illustrated  London 

News,  April  15,  1893)        : 57 


xvi  CONTENTS 

XXII.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  February  8,  1794  ...      59 

XXIII.  EEV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  February  11,  1794         .        .      60 

XXIV.  CAPT.  JAMES  COLERIDGE,  February  20,  1794.    (Brandl'a 

Life  of  Coleridge,  1887,  p.  65) 61 

XXV.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  March  12,  1794.     (Illustrated 

London  News,  April  15,  1893) 62 

XXVI.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  March  21,  1794     ...  64 
XXVII.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  end  of  March,  1794        .        .  66 
XXVIII.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  March  27,  1794      ...  66 
XXIX.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  March  30,  1794     ...  68 
XXX.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  April  7,  1794        ...  69 
XXXI.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  May  1,  1794          ...  70 
XXXII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July  6,  1794.      (Sixteen  lines  pub- 
lished, Southey's  Life  and  Correspondence,  1849,  i.  212)  72 

XXXIII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July  15,  1794.     (Portions  published 

in  Letter  to  H.  Martin,  July  22,  1794,  Biographia  Lit- 
eraria,  1847,  ii.  338) 74 

XXXIV.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  September  18, 1794.     (Eighteen  lines 

published,  Southey's  Life  and  Correspondence,  1849,  i. 

218) 81 

XXXV.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  September  19,  1794  ...        .        .  84 

XXXVI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  September  26,  1794  ....  86 

XXXVII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  October  21,  1794       ....  87 

XXXVIII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  November,  1794        ....  95 

XXXIX.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  Autumn,  1794.     (Illustrated  London 

News,  April  15,  1893) .  101 

XL.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  November  6,  1794         .        .  103 
XLI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  December  11,  1794  ....  106 
XLII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  December  17,  1794   ....  114 
XLIH.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  December,  1794.  (Eighteen  lines  pub- 
lished, Southey's  Life  and  Correspondence,  1849,  i.  227)  121 
XLIV.  MARY  EVANS,  (?)  December,  1794.  (Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge, A  Narrative,  1894,  p.  38) 122 

XLV.  MARY  EVANS,  December  24, 1794.    (Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge, A  Narrative,  1894,  p.  40) 124 

XL VI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  December,  1794         ....  125 

CHAPTER  II.    EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE,  1795-1796. 
XL VII.  JOSEPH    COTTLE,   Spring,   1795.     (Early  Recollections, 

1837,  i.  16) 133 

XLVIII.  JOSEPH  COTTLE,  July  31,  1795.     (Early  Recollections, 

1837,  i.  52) 133 

XLIX.  JOSEPH  COTTLE,  1795.    (Early  Recollections,  1837,  i.  55)     134 

L.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  October,  1795 134 

LI.  THOMAS  POOLE,  October  7,   1795.     (Biographia  Lite- 

raria,  1847,  ii.  347) 136 

LII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  November  13,  1795  ....    137 


CONTENTS  xvii 

LIII.  JOSIAH  WADE,  January  27, 1796.   (Biographia  Literaria, 

1847,  ii.  350) 151 

LIV.  JOSEPH  COTTLE,  February  22,  1796.     (Early  Recollec- 
tions, 1837,  i.  141 ;  Biographia  Literaria,  1847,  ii.  356)     154 
LV.  THOMAS   POOLE,  March  30,  1796.      (Biographia  Lite- 
raria, 1847,  ii.  357) 155 

LVL  THOMAS  POOLE,  May  12,  1796.     (Biographia  Literaria, 
1847,  ii.  366;  Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  1887,  i. 

144)       . 158 

LVII.  JOHN  THELWALL,  May  13,  1796 159 

LVIII.  THOMAS  POOLE,  May  29,  1796.     (Biographia  Literaria, 

1847,  ii.  368) 164 

LIX.  JOHN  THELWALL,  June  22,  1796 166 

LX.  THOMAS  POOLE,  September  24, 1796.     (Biographia  Lite- 
raria, 1847,  ii.  373 ;  Thomas  Poole   and  his  Friends, 

1887,  i.  155) 168 

LXI.  CHAKLES  LAMB  [September  28,  1796].     (Gillman's  Life 

of  Coleridge,  1838,  pp.  338-340) 171 

LXII.  THOMAS  POOLE,  November  5,  1796.     (Biographia  Lite- 
raria, 1847,  ii.  379 ;  Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends, 

1887,  i.  175) 172 

LXIII.  THOMAS  POOLE,  November  7,  1796         .        .        .        .176 
LXIV.  JOHN  THELWALL,  November  19  [1796].      (Twenty-six 
lines  published,  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  A  Narrative, 

1894,  p.  58) 178 

LXV.  THOMAS  POOLE,  December  11,  1796.     (Thomas  Poole 

and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  182) 183 

LXVI.  THOMAS  POOLE,  December  12,  1796.     (Thomas  Poole 

and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  184) 184 

LXVII.  THOMAS  POOLS,  December  13,   1796.     (Thomas  Poole 

and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  186) 187 

LXVIII.  JOHN  THELWALL,  December  17,  1796     .        .        .        .193 
LXIX.  THOMAS  POOLE  [?  December  18, 1796].    (Thomas  Poole 

and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  195) 208 

LXX.  JOHN  THELWALL,  December  31, 1796     .        .        .        .210 

CHAPTER  III.    THE  STOWEY  PERIOD,  1797-1798. 

LXXI.  REV.  J.  P.  ESTLIN  [1797].     (Privately  printed,  Philo- 

biblon  Society) 213 

LXXII.  JOHN  THELWALL,  February  6,  1797        .        .        .        .214 
LXXIII.  JOSEPH  COTTLE,  June,  1797.    (Early  Recollections,  1837, 

i.  250) .        .220 

LXXIV.  ROBERT  SOUTHET,  July,  1797 221 

LXXV.  JOHN  THELWALL  [October  16],  1797      .        .        .        .228 

LXXVI.  JOHN  THELWALL  [Autumn,  1797] 231 

LXXVII.  JOHN  THELWALL  [Autumn,  1797] 232 


xviii  CONTENTS 

LXXVIII.  WILUAM  WORDSWORTH,  January,  1798.      (Ten  lines 

published,  Life  of  Wordsworth,  1889,  i.  128)    .         .     234 
LXXIX.  JOSEPH  COTTLE,  March  8,  1798.     (Part  published  in- 
correctly, Early  Recollections,  1837,  i.  251)       .         .     238 
LXXX.  REV.  GEORGE  COLERIDGE,  April,  1798       .        .        .239 
LXXXI.  REV.  J.  P.  EsTLiN,May  [?  1798],     (Privately  printed, 

Philobiblon  Society) 245 

LXXXIL  REV.  J.  P.  ESTLIN,  May  14,  1798.     (Privately  printed, 

Philobiblon  Society) 246 

LXXXni.  THOMAS  POOLE,  May  14, 1798.    (Thirty-one  lines  pub- 
lished, Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  268) .    248 
LXXXIV.  THOMAS  POOLE   [May  20,  1798].     (Eleven  lines  pub- 
lished, Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  269)  .     249 
LXXXV.  CHARLES  LAMB  [spring  of  1798]         ....    249 

CHAPTER  IV.    A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY,  1798-1799. 

LXXXVI.  THOMAS  POOLE,  September  15,  1798.     (Thomas  Poole 

and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  273) 258 

LXXXVII.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  September  19,  1798        ,  .        .259 

LXXXVIH.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  October  20,  1798     .        .        .262 

LXXXIX.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  November  26,  1798  .        .        .265 

XC.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  December  2,  1798    .        .        .    ?66 

XCI.  REV.  MR.  ROSKILLY,  December  3,  1798        .        .        .267 

XCII.  THOMAS  POOLE,  January  4,  1799 267 

XCIII.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  January  14,  1799      .        .        .271 
XCIV.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  March  12,  1799.     (Illustrated 

London  News,  April  29,  1893) 277 

XCV.  THOMAS  POOLE,  April  6,  1799  .    282 

XCVI.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  April  8, 1799.  (Thirty  lines  pub- 
lished, Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  1887,  i.  295)  .     284 
XCVn.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  April  23,  1799         .        .        .288 
XCVIH.  THOMAS  POOLE,  May  6,  1799.     (Thomas  Poole  and  his 

Friends,  1887,  i.  297) 295 

CHAPTER  V.    FROM   SOUTH  TO  NORTH,  1799-1800. 

XCLX.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July  29,  1799         .        .        .  .303 

C.  THOMAS  POOLE,  September  16,  1799    .        .        .  .305 

CI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  October  15,  1799    .        .        .  .307 

CII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  November  10,  1799        .        .  .    312 

CHI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  December  9  [1799]         .        .  .314 

CIV.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  [December  24],  1799      .        .  .319 

CV.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  January  25,  1800    .        .        •  .322 

CVI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  [early  in  1800]         ....    324 

CVH.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  [Postmark,  February  18],  1800  .    326 

CVIII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  [early  in  1800]         .        .        .  .328 

CIX.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  February  28,  1800  .        .        .  .331 


CONTENTS  xix 

CHAPTER  VI.     A  LAKE  POET,  1800-1803. 

CX.  THOMAS  POOLE,  August  14,  1800.     (Illustrated  Lon- 
don News,  May  27,  1893) 335 

CXI.  SDR  H.    DAVY,   October  9,  1800.     (Fragmentary  Re- 
mains, 1858,  p.  80) 336 

CXII.  SIB  H.  DAVY,  October  18,  1800.     (Fragmentary  Re- 
mains, 1858,  p.  79) 339 

CXHI.  Sm  H.  DAVY,  December  2,   1800.     (Fragmentary  Re- 
mains, 1858,  p.  83) 341 

CXIV.  THOMAS  POOLE,  December  5,  1800.    (Eight  lines  pub- 
lished, Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  1887,  ii.  21)   .     343 
CXV.  SIR  H.  DAVY,  February  3,  1801.     (Fragmentary  Re- 
mains, 1858,  p.  86) 345 

CXVI.  THOMAS  POOLS,  March  16,  1801 348 

CXVII.  THOMAS  POOLE,  March  23,  1801 350 

CXVIII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  [May  6,  1801]          .        .        .        .354 

CXIX.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July  22,  1801  .  .        .356 

CXX.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July  25,  1801          .        .        .        .359 

CXXI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  August  1,  1801       .        .        .        .361 

CXXII.  THOMAS  POOLE,  September  19,  1801.     (Thomas  Poole 

and  his  Friends,  1887,  ii.  65) 364 

CXXIII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  December  31,  1801          .        .         .     365 
CXXIV.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE  [February  24,  1802]  .        .        .367 

CXXV.  W.  SOTHEBY,  July  13,  1802 369 

CXXVI.  W.  SOTHEBY,  July  19,  1802 376 

CXXVII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July  29,  1802          ....    384 
CXXVIII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  August  9,  1802       .        .        .        .393 

CXXIX.  W.  SOTHEBY,  August  26,  1802 396 

CXXX.  W.  SOTHEBY,  September  10,  1802         .         .        .        .401 
CXXXI.  W.  SOTHEBY,  September  27,  1802         .        .        .         .408 
CXXXII.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  November  16,  1802  .        .        .410 
CXXXIII.  REV.  J.  P.  ESTLIN,  December  7,   1802.      (Privately 

printed,  Philobiblon  Society) 414 

CXXXIV.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  December  25,  1802         .        .        .415 

CXXXV.  THOMAS  WEDGWOOD,  January  9,  1803         .        .        .417 

CXXXVI.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  April  4, 1803  .        .        .        .420 

CXXXVII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July  2,  1803 422 

CXXXVIII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  July,  1803 425 

CXXXIX.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  August  7, 1803       .        .        .        .427 

CXL.  MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  September  1,  1803   .        .        .431 

CXLI.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  September  10,  1803         .        .         .434 

CXLII.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  September  13,  1803        .        .        .437 

CXLIII.  MATTHEW  COATES,  December  5,  1803          ...    441 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTKATIONS 


PAQB 

SAMUEL  TAYLOB  COLERIDGE,  aged  forty-seven.  From  a  pencil- 
sketch  by  C.  R.  Leslie,  R.  A.,  now  in  the  possession  of  the  editor. 

Frontispiece 

COLONEL  JAMES  COLERIDGE,  of  Heath's  Court,  Ottery  St.  Mary. 
From  a  pastel  drawing  now  in  the  possession  of  the  Right  Honour- 
able Lord  Coleridge 60 

THE  COTTAGE  AT  CLEVEDON,  occupied  by  S.  T.  Coleridge,  October- 
November,  1795.  From  a  photograph 136 

THE  COTTAGE  AT  NETHER  STOWEY,  occupied  by  S.  T.  Coleridge, 
1797-1800.  From  a  photograph  taken  by  the  Honourable  Stephen 
Coleridge 214 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE,  aged  twenty-six.  From  a  pastel  sketch 
taken  in  Germany,  now  in  the  possession  of  Miss  Ward  of  Marsh- 
mills,  Over  Stowey 262 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  aged  forty-one.  From  an  etching  on  copper.  Pri- 
vate plate 304 

GRETA  HALL,  KESWICK.     From  a  photograph 336 

MRS.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE,  aged  thirty-nine.  From  a  miniature  by  Ma- 
tilda Betham,  now  in  the  possession  of  the  editor 368 

SARA  COLERIDGE,  aged  six.  From  a  miniature  by  Matilda  Betham, 
now  in  the  possession  of  the  editor 416 


CHAPTER  I 

STUDENT   LIFE 
1785-1794 


LETTERS 

OF 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE 


CHAPTER  I 

STUDENT  LIFE 
1785-1794 

THE  five  autobiographical  letters  addressed  to  Thomas 
Poole  were  written  at  Nether  Stowey,  at  irregular  inter- 
vals during  the  years  1797-98.  They  are  included  in 
the  first  chapter  of  the  "  Biographical  Supplement "  to 
the  "  Biographia  Literaria."  The  larger  portion  of  this 
so-called  Biographical  Supplement  was  prepared  for  the 
press  by  Henry  Nelson  Coleridge,  and  consists  of  the 
opening  chapters  of  a  proposed  "biographical  sketch," 
and  a  selection  from  the  correspondence  of  S.  T.  Coleridge. 
His  widow,  Sara  Coleridge,  when  she  brought  out  the 
second  edition  of  the  "Biographia  Literaria"  in  1847, 
published  this  fragment  and  added  some  matter  of  her 
own.  This  edition  has  never  been  reprinted  in  England, 
but  is  included  in  the  American  edition  of  Coleridge's 
Works,  which  was  issued  by  Harper  &  Brothers  in  1853. 

The  letters  may  be  compared  with  an  autobiographical 
note  dated  March  9.  1832,  which  was  written  at  Gillman's 
request,  and  forms  part  of  the  first  chapter  of  his  "  Life  of 
Coleridge."  1  The  text  of  the  present  issue  of  the  auto- 
biographical letters  is  taken  from  the  original  MSS.,  and 
differs  in  many  important  particulars  from  that  of  1847. 
1  Pickering,  1838. 


STUDENT  LIFE 


I.   TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

Monday,  February,  1797. 

MY  DEAR  POOLE,  —  I  could  inform  the  dullest  author 
how  he  might  write  an  interesting  book.  Let  .him  relate 
the  events  of  his  own  life  with  honesty,  not  disguising  the 
feelings  that  accompanied  them.  I  never  yet  read  even  a 
Methodist's  Experience  in  the  "  Gospel  Magazine  "  with- 
out receiving  instruction  and  amusement;  and  I  should 
almost  despair  of  that  man  who  could  peruse  the  Life  of 
John  "Woolman l  without  an  amelioration  of  heart.  As  to 
my  Life,  it  has  all  the  charms  of  variety,  —  high  life  and 
low  life,  vices  and  virtues,  great  folly  and  some  wisdom. 
However,  what  I  am  depends  on  what  I  have  been ;  and 
you,  my  best  Friend  !  have  a  right  to  the  narration.  To 
me  the  task  will  be  a  useful  one.  It  will  'renew  and 
deepen  my  reflections  on  the  past ;  and  it  will  perhaps 
make  you  behold  with  no  unforgiving  or  impatient  eye 
those  weaknesses  and  defects  in  my  character,  which  so 
many  untoward  circumstances  have  concurred  to  plant 
there. 

My  family  on  my  mother's  side  can  be  traced  up,  I 
know  not  how  far.  The  Bowdons  inherited  a  small  farm 
in  the  Exmoor  country,  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  as  I 
have  been  told,  and,  to  my  own  knowledge,  they  have  inher- 
ited nothing  better  since  that  time.  On  my  father's  side 
I  can  rise  no  higher  than  my  grandfather,  who  was  born 
in  the  Hundred  of  Coleridge 2  in  the  county  of  Devon, 

1  The  Journal  of  John  Woolman,  pare,  too,  Essays  of  Elia,  "  A  Qua- 

the    Quaker   abolitionist,   was   pub-  kers'  Meeting."     "  Get  the  writings 

lished  in  Philadelphia  in  1774,  and  of   John   Woolman   by  heart;   and 

in  London  in  1775.     From  a  letter  love  the  early  Quakers."     Letters  of 

of  Charles  Lamb,  dated  January  5,  Charles   Lamb,    1888,  i.   61 ;   Prose 

1797,  we  may  conclude  that  Charles  Works,  1836,  ii.  106. 

Lloyd  had,  in    the    first    instance,  2  I  have  been  unable  to  trace  any 

drawn  Coleridge's  attention  to  the  connection   between   the    family    of 

writings  of  John  Woolman.     Com-  Coleridge  and  the  Parish  or  Hun- 


TO   THOMAS  POOLE  5 

christened,  educated,  and  apprenticed  to  the  parish.  He 
afterwards  became  a  respectable  woollen  -  draper  in  the 
town  of  South  Molton.1  (I  have  mentioned  these  par- 
ticulars, as  the  time  may  come  in  which  it  will  be  useful 
to  be  able  to  prove  myself  a  genuine  sans-culotte,  my 
veins  uncontaminated  with  one  drop  of  gentility.)  My 
father  received  a  better  education  than  the  others  of  his 
family,  in  consequence  of  his  own  exertions,  not  of  his 
superior  advantages.  When  he  was  not  quite  sixteen 
years  old,  my  grandfather  became  bankrupt,  and  by  a 
series  of  misfortunes  was  reduced  to  extreme  poverty. 
My  father  received  the  half  of  his  last  crown  and  his 
blessing,  and  walked  off  to  seek  his  fortune.  After  he 
had  proceeded  a  few  miles,  he  sat  him  down  on  the  side  of 
the  road,  so  overwhelmed  with  painful  thoughts  that  he 
wept  audibly.  A  gentleman  passed  by,  who  knew  him,  and, 
inquiring  into  his  distresses,  took  my  father  with  him, 
and  settled  him  in  a  neighbouring  town  as  a  schoolmas- 
ter. His  school  increased  and  he  got  money  and  know- 
ledge :  for  he  commenced  a  severe  and  ardent  student. 
Here,  too,  he  married  his  first  wife,  by  whom  he  had  three 
daughters,  all  now  alive.  While  his  first  wife  lived,  hav- 
ing scraped  up  money  enough  at  the  age  of  twenty 2  he 

dred  of  Coleridge  in  North  Devon,  here,  if  anywhere,  it  must  have  been 

Coldridges  or  Coleridges  have  been  that  the  elder  John  Coleridge  "  be- 

settled  for  more  than  two  hundred  came  a  respectable  woollen-draper." 

years  in  Doddiscombsleigh,  Ashton,  2  John    Coleridge,    the    younger, 

and   other,  villages    of    the   Upper  was  in  his  thirty-first  year  when  he 

Teign,   and    to    the     southwest    of  was  matriculated  as  sizar  at  Sidney 

Exeter  the  name  is  not  uncommon.  Sussex   College,  Cambridge,  March 

It  is  probable  that  at  some  period  18,  1748.     He  is  entered  in  the  col- 

before  the  days  of  parish  registers,  lege  books  as  filius  Johannis  textoris. 

strangers  from  Coleridge  who    had  On  the  13th  of  June,  1749,  he  was 

settled   farther  south   were   named  appointed     to     the     mastership    of 

after  their  birthplace.  Squire's  Endowed  Grammar  School 

1  Probably  a  mistake  for  Crediton.  at  South  Molton.     It  is  strange  that 

It  was  at  Crediton  that  John  Cole-  Coleridge  forgot  or  failed  to  record 

ridge,   the  poet's  father,  was  bom  this  incident  in  his  father's  life.    His 

(Feb.  21,  1718)  and  educated ;  and  mother  came  from  the  neighbour- 


6  STUDENT  LIFE 

walked  to  Cambridge,  entered  at  Sidney  College,  distin- 
guished himself  for  Hebrew  and  Mathematics,  and  might 
have  had  a  fellowship  if  he  had  not  been  married.  He 
returned  —  his  wife  died.  Judge  Buller's  father  gave 
him  the  living  of  Ottery  St.  Mary,  and  put  the  present 
judge  to  school  with  him.  He  married  my  mother,  by 
whom  he  had  ten  children,  of  whom  I  am  the  youngest,! 
born  October  20,  1772. 

These  sketches  I  received  from  my  mother  and  aunt, 
but  I  am  utterly  unable  to  fill  them  up  by  any  particu- 
larity of  times,  or  places,  or  names.  Here  I  shall  con- 
clude my  first  letter,  because  I  cannot  pledge  myself  for 
the  accuracy  of  the  accounts,  and  I  will  not  therefore 
mingle  them  with  those  for  the  accuracy  of  which  in  the 
minutest  parts  I  shall  hold  myself  amenable  to  the  Tri- 
bunal of  Truth.  You  must  regard  this  letter  as  the  first 
chapter  of  an  history  which  is  devoted  to  dim  traditions 
of  times  too  remote  to  be  pierced  by  the  eye  of  investi- 
gation. Yours  affectionately, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

II.   TO  THE   SAME. 

Sunday,  March,  1797. 

MY  DEAR  POOLE,  —  My  father  (Vicar  of,  and  School- 
master at,  Ottery  St.  Mary,  Devon)  was  a  profound 
mathematician,  and  well  versed  in  the  Latin,  Greek,  and 
Oriental  Languages.  He  published,  or  rather  attempted 
to  publish,  several  works ;  1st,  Miscellaneous  Disserta- 
tions arising  from  the  17th  and  18th  Chapters  of  the 
Book  of  Judges  ;  2d,  Sententice  excerptce,  for  the  use  of 
his  own  school ;  and  3d,  his  best  work,  a  Critical  Latin 
Grammar ;  in  the  preface  to  which  he  proposes  a  bold 
innovation  in  the  names  of  the  cases.  My  father's  new 

hood,   and   several    of    his  father's     judge,    followed    him    from    South 
scholars,  among  them  Francis  Bui-     Molton  to  Ottery  St.  Mary, 
ler,    afterwards     the     well  -  known 


TO  THOMAS  POOLE  7 

nomenclature  was  not  likely  to  become  popular,  although 
it  must  be  allowed  to  be  both  sonorous  and  expressive. 
Exempli  gratia,  he  calls  the  ablative  the  quippe-quare- 
quale-quia-quidditive  case  !  My  father  made  the  world 
his  confidant  with  respect  to  his  learning  and  ingenuity, 
and  the  world  seems  to  have  kept  the  secret  very  faith- 
fully. His  various  works,  uncut,  unthumbed,  have  been 
preserved  free  from  all  pollution.  This  piece  of  good  luck 
promises  to  be  hereditary ;  for  all  my  compositions  have 
the  same  amiable  home-studying  propensity.  The  truth 
is,  my  father  was  not  a  first-rate  genius ;  he  was,  how- 
ever, a  first-rate  Christian.  I  need  not  detain  you  with 
his  character.  In  learning,  good-heartedness,  absentness 
of  mind,  and  excessive  ignorance  of  the  world,  he  was  a 
perfect  Parson  Adams. 

My  mother  was  an  admirable  economist,  and  managed 
exclusively.  My  eldest  brother's  name  was  John.  He 
went  over  to  the  East  Indies  in  the  Company's  service  ; 
he  was  a  successful  officer  and  a  brave  one,  I  have  heard. 
He  died  of  a  consumption  there  about  eight  years  ago. 
My  second  brother  was  called  William.  He  went  to 
Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  and  afterwards  was  assistant 
to  Mr.  Newcome's  School,  at  Hackney.  He  died  of  a 
putrid  fever  the  year  before  my  father's  death,  and  just 
as  he  was  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  Miss  Jane  Hart, 
the  eldest  daughter  of  a  very  wealthy  citizen  of  Exeter. 
My  third  brother,  James,  has  been  in  the  army  since  the 
age  of  sixteen,  has  married  a  woman  of  fortune,  and  now 
lives  at  Ottery  St.  Mary,  a  respectable  man.  My  brother 
Edward,  the  wit  of  the  family,  went  to  Pembroke  College, 
and  afterwards  to  Salisbury,  as  assistant  to  Dr.  Skinner. 
He  married  a  woman  twenty  years  older  than  his  mother. 
She  is  dead,  and  he  now  lives  at  Ottery  St.  Mary.  My 
fifth  brother,  George,  was  educated  at  Pembroke  College, 
Oxford,  and  from  there  went  to  Mr.  Newcome's,  Hackney, 
on  the  death  of  William.  He  stayed  there  fourteen  years, 


8  STUDENT  LIFE 

when  the  living  of  Ottery  St.  Mary l  was  given  him.  There 
he  has  now  a  fine  school,  and  has  lately  married  Miss 
Jane  Hart,  who  with  beauty  and  wealth  had  remained  a 
faithful  widow  to  the  memory  of  William  for  sixteen 
years.  My  brother  George  is  a  man  of  reflective  mind 
and  elegant  genius.  He  possesses  learning  in  a  greater 
degree  than  any  of  the  family,  excepting  myself.  His 
manners  are  grave  and  hued  over  with  a  tender  sadness. 
In  his  moral  character  he  approaches  every  way  nearer  to 
perfection  than  any  man  I  ever  yet  knew ;  indeed,  he  is 
worth  the  whole  family  in  a  lump.  My  sixth  brother, 
Luke  (indeed,  the  seventh,  for  one  brother,  the  second, 
died  in  his  infancy,  and  I  had  forgot  to  mention  him),  was 
bred  as  a  medical  man.  He  married  Miss  Sara  Hart,  and 
died  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  leaving  one  child,  a  lovely 
boy,  still  alive.  My  brother  Luke  was  a  man  of  uncom- 
mon genius,  a  severe  student,  and  a  good  man.  The 
eighth  child  was  a  sister,  Anne.2  She  died  a  little  after 
my  brother  Luke,  aged  twenty-one  ; 

Rest,  gentle  Shade !  and  wait  thy  Maker's  will ; 
Then  rise  unchanged,  and  be  an  Angel  still ! 

The  ninth  child  was  called  Francis.  He  went  out  as  a 
midshipman,  under  Admiral  Graves.  His  ship  lay  on 
the  Bengal  coast,  and  he  accidentally  met  his  brother 
John,  who  took  him  to  land,  and  procured  him  a  commis- 
sion in  the  Army.  He  died  from  the  effects  of  a  delirious 
fever  brought  on  by  his  excessive  exertions  at  the  siege  of 
Seringapatam,  at  which  his  conduct  had  been  so  gallant, 
that  Lord  Cornwallis  paid  him  a  high  compliment  in 
the  presence  of  the  army,  and  presented  him  with  a  val- 

1  George  Coleridge  was  Chaplain  and  early  death  form  the  subject  of 
Priest,  and   Master   of    the   King's  two   of    Coleridge's    early    sonnets. 
School,  but  never  Vicar  of  Ottery  Poetical    Works   of  Samuel   Taylor 
St.  Mary.  Coleridge,   Macmillan,  1893,  p.   13. 

2  Anne  ("  Nancy  ")  Coleridge  died  See,  also, "  Lines  to  a  Friend,"  p.  37, 
in  her  twenty-fifth  year.    Her  illness  and  "Frost  at  Midnight,"  p.  127. 


TO  THOMAS  POOLE  ,  9 

uable  gold  watch,  which  my  mother  now  has.  All  my 
brothers  are  remarkably  handsome  ;  but  they  were  as  in- 
ferior to  Francis  as  I  am  to  them.  He  went  by  the  name 
of  "  the  handsome  Coleridge."  The  tenth  and  Jast  child 
was  S.  T.  Coleridge,  the  subject  of  these  epistles,  born 
(as  I  told  you  in  my  last)  October  20,1  1772. 
"  From  October  20,  1772,  to  October  20,  1773.  Chris- 
tened Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  —  my  godfather's  name 
being  Samuel  Taylor,  Esq.  I  had  another  godfather 
(his  name  was  Evans),  and  two  godmothers,  both  called 
"Monday."2  From  October  20,  1773,  to  October  20, 
1774.  In  this  year  I  was  carelessly  left  by  my  nurse, 
ran  to  the  fire,  and  pulled  out  a  live  coal  —  burnt  my- 
self dreadfully.  While  my  hand  was  being  dressed  by 
a  Mr.  Young,  I  spoke  for  the  first  time  (so  my  mother 
informs  me)  and  said,  "nasty  Doctor  Young!"  The 
snatching  at  fire,  and  the  circumstance  of  my  first  words 
expressing  hatred  to  professional  men  —  are  they  at  all 
ominous  ?  This  year  I  went  to  school.  My  schoolmistress, 

1  A  mistake  for  October  21st.  she  had  the  barbarity  to  revenge  by 

2  Compare  some  doggerel  verses     striking  me  out  of  her  Will." 

"  On  Mrs.  Monday's  Beard  "  which  The  epigram  is  not  worth  quoting, 

Coleridge     wrote     on     a     copy     of  but   it   is   curious  to  observe   that, 

Southey's  Omniana,  under  the  head-  even   when   scribbling  for  his  own 

ing  of   "  Beards "  (Omniana,   1812,  amusement,  and  without  any  view 

ii.  54).     Southey  records  the  legend  to  publication,   Coleridge  could  not 

of  a  female  saint,  St.  Vuilgefortis,  resist  the  temptation  of  devising  an 

who  in  answer  to  her  prayers  was  "  apologetic  preface." 

rewarded  with  a  beard  as  a  mark  of  The  verses,   etc.,    are   printed  in 

divine  favour.     The  story  is  told  in  Table  Talk  and  Omniana,  Bell,  1888, 

some  Latin  elegiacs  from  the  Annus  p.  391.    The  editor,  the  late  Thomas 

Sacer  Poeticus  of  the  Jesuit  Sautel  Ashe,  transcribed  them  from  Gill- 

which    Southey   quotes    at    length,  man's  copy  of  the  Omniana,  now  in 

Coleridge  comments  thus,  "  Pereant  the    British   Museum.     I  have   fol- 

qui  ante  nos  nostra  dixere !     What !  lowed  a  transcript  of  the  marginal 

can  nothing  be  one's  own  ?     This  is  note  made  by  Mrs.  H.  N.  Coleridge 

the  more  vexatious,  for  at  the  age  of  before  the  volume  was  cut  in  bind- 

eighteen   I   lost  a   legacy  of   Fifty  ing.      Her  version   supplies   one  or 

pounds  for  the  following  Epigram  two  omissions, 
on  my  Godmother's   Beard,   which 


10  STUDENT  LIFE 

the  very  image  of  Shenstone's,  was  named  Old  Dame  Key. 
She  was  nearly  related  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 

From  October  20,  1774,  to  October  20,  1775.  I  was 
inoculated  ;  which  I  mention  because  I  distinctly  remem- 
ber it,  and  that  my  eyes  were  bound ;  at  which  I  mani- 
fested so  much  obstinate  indignation,  that  at  last  they 
removed  the  bandage,  and  unaffrighted  I  looked  at  the 
lancet,  and  suffered  the  scratch.  At  the  close  of  the  year 
I  could  read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible. 

Here  I  shall  end,  because  the  remaining  years  of  my 
life  all  assisted  to  form  my  particular  mind  ;  —  the  three 
first  years  had  nothing  in  them  that  seems  to  relate  to  it. 

(Signature  cut  out.) 

HI.   TO  THE   SAME. 

October  9,  1797. 

MY  DEAREST  POOLE,  —  From  March  to  October  —  a 
long  silence  !  But  [as]  it  is  possible  that  I  may  have  been 
preparing  materials  for  future  letters,1  the  time  cannot 
be  considered  as  altogether  subtracted  from  you. 

From  October,  1775,  to  October,  1778.  These  three 
years  I  continued  at  the  Reading  School,  because  I  was 
too  little  to  be  trusted  among  my  father's  schoolboys. 
After  breakfast  I  had  a  halfpenny  given  me,  with  which 
I  bought  three  cakes  at  the  baker's  close  by  the  school 
of  my  old  mistress ;  and  these  were  my  dinner  on  every 
day  except  Saturday  and  Sunday,  when  I  used  to  dine  at 
home,  and  wallowed  in  a  beef  and  pudding  dinner.  I  am 
remarkably  fond  of  beans  and  bacon ;  and  this  fondness 
I  attribute  to  my  father  having  given  me  a  penny  for 

1  The  meaning  is  that  the  events  Dorothy  at  Alf oxden,  would  hereaf- 

which  had    taken    place    between  ter  be  recorded  in  his  autobiography. 

March  and  October,  1797,  the  com-  He  had  failed  to  complete  the  rec- 

position,  for  instance,  of  his  tragedy,  ord  of  the  past,  only  because  he  had 

Osorio,  the  visit  of  Charles  Lamb  to  been  too  much  occupied  with  the 

the  cottage  at  Nether  Stowey,  the  present, 
settling  of  Wordsworth  and  his  sister 


TO  THOMAS  POOLE  11 

having  eat  a  large  quantity  of  beans  on  Saturday.  For 
the  other  boys  did  not  like  them,  and  as  it  was  an  eco- 
nomic food,  my  father  thought  that  my  attachment  and 
penchant  for  it  ought  to  be  encouraged.  My  father  was 
very  fond  of  me,  and  I  was  my  mother's  darling  :  in  con- 
sequence I  was  very  miserable.  For  Molly,  who  had 
nursed  my  brother  Francis,  and  was  immoderately  fond 
of  him,  hated  me  because  my  mother  took  more  notice 
of  me  than  of  Frank,  and  Frank  hated  me  because  my 
mother  gave  me  now  and  then  a  bit  of  cake,  when  he  had 
none,  —  quite  forgetting  that  for  one  bit  of  cake  which  I 
had  and  he  had  not,  he  had  twenty  sops  in  the  pan,  and 
pieces  of  bread  and  butter  with  sugar  on  them  from  Molly, 
from  whom  I  received  only  thumps  and  ill  names. 

So  I  became  fretful  and  timorous,  and  a  tell-tale  ;  and 
the  schoolboys  drove  me  from  play,  and  were  always 
tormenting  me,  and  hence  I  took  no  pleasure  in  boyish 
sports,  but  read  incessantly.  My  father's  sister  kept  an 
everything  shop  at  Crediton,  and  there  I  read  through 
all  the  gilt-cover  little  books l  that  could  be  had  at  that 
time,  and  likewise  all  the  uncovered  tales  of  Tom  Hicka- 
thrift,  Jack  the  Giant-killer,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  And  I 

1  He  records  his  timorous  passion  used  to  watch,  till  the  sun  shining 

for  fairy  stories  in  a  note  to  The  on  the  bookcase  approached,  and, 

Friend  (ed.  1850,  i.  192).  Another  glowing  full  upon  it,  gave  me  the 

version  of  the  same  story  is  to  be  courage  to  take  it  from  the  shelf.  I 

found  in  some  MS.  notes  (taken  by  heard  of  no  little  Billies,  and  sought 

J.  Tomalin)  of  the  Lectures  of  1811,  no  praise  for  giving  to  beggars,  and 

the  only  record  of  this  and  other  I  trust  that  my  heart  is  not  the 

lectures :  —  worse,  or  the  less  inclined  to  feel 

Lecture  5th,  1811.  "  Give  me,"  sympathy  for  all  men,  because  I 

cried  Coleridge,  with  enthusiasm,  first  learnt  the  powers  of  my  nature, 

"the  works  which  delighted  my  and  to  reverence  that  nature  —  for 

youth  !  Give  me  the  History  of  St.  who  can  feel  and  reverence  the  na- 

George,  and  the  Seven  Champions  of  ture  of  man  and  not  feel  deeply  for 

Christendom,  which  at  every  leisure  the  affliction  of  others  possessing 

moment  I  used  to  hide  myself  in  a  like  powers  and  like  nature  ?  " 

corner  to  read  !  Give  me  the  Ara-  Tomalin's  Shorthand  Report  of  Lec- 

bian  Nights'1  Entertainments,  which  I  ture  V. 


12  STUDENT  LIFE 

used  to  lie  by  the  wall  and  mope,  and  my  spirits  used  to 
come  upon  me  suddenly ;  and  in  a  flood  of  them  I  was 
accustomed  to  race  up  and  down  the  churchyard,  and  act 
over  all  I  had  been  reading,  on  the  docks,  the  nettles,  and 
the  rank  grass.  At  six  years  old  I  remember  to  have  read 
Belisarius,  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  Philip  Quarles  ;  and  then 
I  found  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments,  one  tale  of 
which  (the  tale  of  a  man  who  was  compelled  to  seek  for 
a  pure  virgin)  made  so  deep  an  impression  on  me  (I  had 
read  it  in  the  evening  while  my  mother  was  mending 
stockings),  that  I  was  haunted  by  spectres,  whenever  I 
was  in  the  dark :  and  I  distinctly  remember  the  anxious 
and  fearful  eagerness  with  which  I  used  to  watch  the 
window  in  which  the  books  lay,  and  whenever  the  sun  lay 
upon  them,  I  would  seize  it,  carry  it  by  the  wall,  and  bask 
and  read.  My  father  found  out  the  effect  which  these 
books  had  produced,  and  burnt  them. 

So  I  became  a  dreamer,  and  acquired  an  indisposition 
to  all  bodily  activity ;  and  I  was  fretful,  and  inordinately 
passionate,  and  as  I  could  not  play  at  anything,  and  was 
slothful,  I  was  despised  and  hated  by  the  boys  ;  and  be- 
cause I  could  read  and  spell  and  had,  I  may  truly  say,  a 
memory  and  understanding  forced  into  almost  an  unnat- 
ural ripeness,  I  was  flattered  and  wondered  at  by  all  the 
old  women.  And  so  I  became  very  vain,  and  despised 
most  of  the  boys  that  were  at  all  near  my  own  age,  and 
before  I  was  eight  years  old  I  was  a  character.  Sensi- 
bility, imagination,  vanity,  sloth,  and  feelings  of  deep  and 
bitter  contempt  for  all  who  traversed  the  orbit  of  my  un- 
derstanding, were  even  then  prominent  and  manifest. 

From  October,  1778,  to  1779.  That  which  I  began  to 
be  from  three  to  six  I  continued  from  six  to  nine.  In  this 
year  [1778]  I  was  admitted  into  the  Grammar  School,  and 
soon  outstripped  all  of  my  age.  I  had  a  dangerous  putrid 
fever  this  year.  My  brother  George  lay  ill  of  the  same 
fever  in  the  next  room.  My  poor  brother  Francis,  I 


TO   THOMAS  POOLE  13 

remember,  stole  up  in  spite  of  orders  to  the  contrary,  and 
sat  by  my  bedside  and  read  Pope's  Homer  to  me.  Frank 
had  a  violent  love  of  beating  me  ;  but  whenever  that 
was  superseded  by  any  humour  or  circumstances,  he  was 
always  very  fond  of  me,  and  used  to  regard  me  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  admiration  and  contempt.  Strange 
it  was  not,  for  he  hated  books,  and  loved  climbing, 
fighting,  playing  and  robbing  orchards,  to  distraction. 

My  mother  relates  a  story  of  me,  which- 1  repeat  here, 
because  it  must  be  regarded  as  my  first  piece  of  wit. 
During  my  fever,  I  asked  why  Lady  Northcote  (our 
neighbour)  did  not  come  and  see  me.  My  mother  said 
she  was  afraid  of  catching  the  fever.  I  was  piqued,  and 
answered,  "  Ah,  Mamma !  the  four  Angels  round  my  bed 
an't  afraid  of  catching  it !  "  I  suppose  you  know  the 
prayer : — 

"  Matthew !  Mark !  Luke  and  John ! 
God  bless  the  bed  which  I  lie  on. 
Four  angels  round  me  spread, 
Two  at  my  foot,  and  two  at  my  head." 

This  prayer  I  said  nightly,  and  most  firmly  believed  the 
truth  of  it.  Frequently  have  I  (half-awake  and  half- 
asleep,  my  body  diseased  and  fevered  by  my  imagination), 
seen  armies  of  ugly  things  bursting  in  upon  me,  and  these 
four  angels  keeping  them  off.  In  my  next  I  shall  carry 
on  my  life  to  my  father's  death. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  Poole,  and  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

IV.   TO   THE   SAME. 

October  16,  1797. 

DEAR  POOLE,  —  From  October,  1779,  to  October,  1781. 
I  had  asked  my  mother  one  evening  to  cut  my  cheese 
entire,  so  that  I  might  toast  it.  This  was  no  easy  matter, 
it  being  a  crumbly  cheese.  My  mother,  however,  did  it. 
I  went  into  the  garden  for  something  or  other,  and  in 


14  STUDENT  LIFE 

the  mean  time  my  brother  Frank  minced  my  cheese  "  to 
disappoint  the  favorite."  I  returned,  saw  the  exploit, 
and  in  an  agony  of  passion  flew  at  Frank.  He  pretended 
to  have  been  seriously  hurt  by  my  blow,  flung  himself  on 
the  ground,  and  there  lay  with  outstretched  limbs.  I 
hung  over  him  moaning,  and  in  a  great  fright ;  he  leaped 
up,  and  with  a  horse-laugh  gave  me  a  severe  blow  in  the 
face.  I  seized  a  knife,  and  was  running  at  him,  when 
my  mother  came  in  and  took  me  by  the  arm.  I  expected 
a  flogging,  and  struggling  from  her  I  ran  away  to  a  hill 
at  the  bottom  of  which  the  Otter  flows,  about  one  mile 
from  Ottery.  There  I  stayed ;  iny  rage  died  away,  but 
my  obstinacy  vanquished  my  fears,  and  taking  out  a 
little  shilling  book  which  had,  at  the  end,  morning  and 
evening  prayers,  I  very  devoutly  repeated  them  —  think- 
ing at  the  same  time  with  inward  and  gloomy  satisfaction 
how  miserable  my  mother  must  be  !  I  distinctly  remem- 
ber my  feelings  when  I  saw  a  Mr.  Vaughan  pass  over  the 
bridge,  at  about  a  furlong's  distance,  and  how  I  watched 
the  calves  in  the  fields  J  beyond  the  river.  It  grew  dark 
and  I  fell  asleep.  It  was  towards  the  latter  end  of  Oc- 
tober, and  it  proved  a  dreadful  stormy  night.  I  felt  the 
cold  in  my  sleep,  and  dreamt  that  I  was  pulling  the  blan- 
ket over  me,  and  actually  pulled  over  me  a  dry  thorn  bush 
which  lay  on  the  hill.  In  my  sleep  I  had  rolled  from  the 
top  of  the  hill  to  within  three  yards  of  the  river,  which 
flowed  by  the  unfenced  edge  at  the  bottom.  I  awoke 
several  times,  and  finding  myself  wet  and  stiff  and  cold, 
closed  my  eyes  again  that  I  might  forget  it. 

In  the  mean  time  my  mother  waited  about  half  an  hour, 

1  Compare  a  MS.  note  dated  July  calf  bellowing.     Instantly  came  on 

19,  1803.    "  Intensely  hot  day,  left  my  mind  that  night  I  slept  out  at 

off  a  waistcoat,  and  for  yarn  wore  Ottery,   and  the   calf  in  the  field 

silk  stockings.     Before  nine  o'clock  across   the  •  river  whose   lowing  so 

had  unpleasant    dullness,    heard  a  deeply  impressed  me.      Chill  and 

noise  which  I  thought  Derwent's  in  child  and  calf  lowing." 
sleep;  listened  and  found  it  was  a 


TO  THOMAS  POOLE  15 

expecting  my  return  when  the  sulks  had  evaporated.  I 
not  returning,  she  sent  into  the  churchyard  and  round 
the  town.  Not  found  !  Several  men  and  all  the  boys 
were  sent  to  ramble  about  and  seek  me.  In  vain  !  My 
mother  was  almost  distracted ;  and  at  ten  o'clock  at  night 
I  was  cried  by  the  crier  in  Ottery,  and  in  two  villages 
near  it,  with  a  reward  offered  for  me.  No  one  went  to 
bed ;  indeed,  I  believe  half  the  town  were  up  all  the 
night.  To  return  to  myself.  About  five  in  the  morning, 
or  a  little  after,  I  was  broad  awake,  and  attempted  to  get 
up  and  walk ;  but  I  could  not  move.  I  saw  the  shepherds 
and  workmen  at  a  distance,  and  cried,  but  so  faintly  that 
it  was  impossible  to  hear  me  thirty  yards  off.  And  there 
I  might  have  lain  and  died ;  for  I  was  now  almost  given 
over,  the  ponds  and  even  the  river,  near  where  I  was 
lying,  having  been  dragged.  But  by  good  luck,  Sir 
Stafford  Northcote,1  who  had  been  out  all  night,  resolved 
to  make  one  other  trial,  and  came  so  near  that  he  heard 
me  crying.  He  carried  me  in  his  arms  for  near  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  when  we  met  my  father  and  Sir  Stafford's 
servants.  I  remember  and  never  shall  forget  my  father's 
face  as  he  looked  upon  me  while  I  lay  in  the  servant's 
arms  —  so  calm,  and  the  tears  stealing  down  his  face  ;  for 
I  was  the  child  of  his  old  age.  My  mother,  as  you  may 
suppose,  was  outrageous  with  joy.  [Meantime]  in  rushed 
a  young  lady,  crying  out,  "  I  hope  you  '11  whip  him, 
Mrs.  Coleridge  !  "  This  woman  still  lives  in  Ottery ;  and 
neither  philosophy  or  religion  have  been  able  to  conquer 
the  antipathy  which  I  feel  towards  her  whenever  I  see 
her.  I  was  put  to  bed  and  recovered  in  a  day  or  so,  but 
I  was  certainly  injured.  For  I  was  weakly  and  subject  to 
the  ague  for  many  years  after. 

1  Sir  Stafford,  the  seventh  baro-  the  list  of  scholars  who  were  sub- 
net, grandfather  of  the  first  Lord  scribers  to  the  second  edition  of  the 
Iddesleigh,  was  at  that  time  a  youth  Critical  Latin  Grammar. 
of  eighteen.   His  name  occurs  among 


16  STUDENT  LIFE 

My  father  (who  had  so  little  of  parental  ambition  in 
,•  him,  that  he  had  destined  his  children  to  be  blacksmiths, 
etc.,  and  had  accomplished  his  intention  but  for  my  mo- 
ther's pride  and  spirit  of  aggrandizing  her  family) my 

father  had,  however,  resolved  that  I  should  be  a  parson. 
I  read  every  book  that  came  in  my  way  without  distinc- 
tion ;  and  my  father  was  fond  of  me,  and  used  to  take 
me  on  his  knee  and  hold  long  conversations  with  me.  I 
remember  that  at  eight  years  old  I  walked  with  him  one 
winter  evening  from  a  farmer's  house,  a  mile  from  Ottery, 
and  he  told  me  the  names  of  the  stars  and  how  Jupiter 
was  a  thousand  times  larger  than  our  world,  and  that  the 
other  twinkling  stars  were  suns  that  had  worlds  rolling 
round  them;  and  when  I  came  home  he  shewed  me  how 
they  rolled  round.  I  heard  him  with  a  prof ound  delight 
and  admiration  :  but  without  the  least  mixture  of  wonder 
or  incredulity.  For  from  my  early  reading  of  fairy  tales 
and  genii,  etc.,  etc.,  my  mind  had  been  habituated  to  the 
Vast,  and  I  never  regarded  my  senses  in  any  way  as  the 
criteria  of  my  belief.  I  regulated  all  my  creeds  by  my 
conceptions,  not  by  my  sight,  even  at  that  age.  Should 
children  be  permitted  to  read  romances,  and  relations  of 
giants  and  magicians  and  genii?  I  know  all  that  has 
been  said  against  it ;  but  I  have  formed  my  faith  in  the 
affirmative.  I  know  no  other  way  of  giving  the  mind  a 
love  of  the  Great  and  the  Whole.  Those  who  have  been 
led  to  the  same  truths  step  by  step,  through  the  constant 
testimony  of  their  senses,  seem  to  me  to  want  a  sense  which 
I  possess.  They  contemplate  nothing  but  parts,  and  all 
parts  are  necessarily  little.  And  the  universe  to  them  is 
but  a  mass  of  little  things.  It  is  true,  that  the  mind  may 
become  credulous  and  prone  to  superstition  by  the  former 
method ;  but  are  not  the  experimentalists  credulous  even 
to  madness  in  believing  any  absurdity,  rather  than  believe 
the  grandest  truths,  if  they  have  not  the  testimony  of  their 
own  senses  in  their  favour?  I  have  known  some  who  have 


TO  THOMAS  POOLE  17 

been  rationally  educated,  as  it  is  styled.  They  were 
marked  by  a  microscopic  acuteness,  but  when  they  looked 
at  great  things,  all  became  a  blank  and  they  saw  no- 
thing, and  denied  (very  illogically)  that  anything  could 
be  seen,  and  uniformly  put  the  negation  of  a  power  for  the 
possession  of  a  power,  and  called  the  want  of  imagination 
judgment  and  the  never  being  moved  to  rapture  philo- 
sophy ! 

Towards  the  latter  end  of  September,  1781,  my  father 
went  to  Plymouth  with  my  brother  Francis,  who  was  to  go 
as  midshipman  under  Admiral  Graves,  who  was  a  friend 
of  my  father's.  My  father  settled  my  brother,  and  re- 
turned October  4,  1781.  He  arrived  at  Exeter  about  six 
o'clock,  and  was  pressed  to  take  a  bed  there  at  the  Harts', 
but  he  refused,  and,  to  avoid  their  entreaties,  he  told  them, 
that  he  had  never  been  superstitious,  but  that  the  night 
before  he  had  had  a  dream  which  had  made  a  deep  im- 
pression. He  dreamt  that  Death  had  appeared  to  him  as 
he  is  commonly  painted,  and  touched  him  with  his  dart. 
Well,  he  returned  home,  and  all  his  family,  I  excepted, 
were  up.  He  told  my  mother  his  dream  ; 1  but  he  was  in 
high  health  and  good  spirits,  and  there  was  a  bowl  of 
punch  made,  and  my  father  gave  a  long  and  particular 
account  of  his  travel,  and  that  he  had  placed  Frank  under 
a  religious  captain,  etc.  At  length  he  went  to  bed,  very 
well  and  in  high  spirits.  A  short  time  after  he  had  lain 
down  he  complained  of  a  pain  in  his  bowels.  My  mother 
got  him  some  peppermint  water,  and,  after  a  pause,  he 
said,  "  I  am  much  better  now,  my  dear ! "  and  lay  down 
again.  In  a  minute  my  mother  heard  a  noise  in  his  throat, 
and  spoke  to  him,  but  he  did  not  answer ;  and  she  spoke 
repeatedly  in  vain.  Her  shriek  awaked  me,  and  I  said, 
"  Papa  is  dead !  "  I  did  not  know  of  my  father's  return, 

1  Compare  a  MS.  note  dated  March     cause  of  the  coincidence  of  dreams 
5,    1818.      "  Memory    counterfeited     with  the  event  —  77 
by  present  impressions.     One  great 


18  STUDENT  LIFE 

but  I  knew  that  he  was  expected.  How  I  came  to  think  of 
his  death  I  cannot  tell ;  but  so  it  was.  Dead  he  was.  Some 
said  it  was  the  gout  in  the  heart ;  —  probably  it  was  a  fit  of 
apoplexy.  He  was  an  Israelite  without  guile,  simple,  gen- 
erous, and  taking  some  Scripture  texts  in  their  literal  sense, 
he  was  conscientiously  indifferent  to  the  good  and  the  evil 
of  this  world. 

God  love  you  and  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

V.   TO   THE   SAME. 

February  19,  1798. 

From  October,  1781,  to  October,  1782. 

After  the  death  of  my  father,  we  of  course  changed 
houses,  and  I  remained  with  my  mother  till  the  spring 
of  1782,  and  was  a  day-scholar  to  Parson  Warren,  my 
father's  successor.  He  was  not  very  deep,  I  believe ;  and 
I  used  to  delight  my  mother  by  relating  little  instances  of 
his  deficiency  in  grammar  knowledge,  —  every  detraction 
from  his  merits  seemed  an  oblation  to  the  memory  of  my 
father,  especially  as  Parson  Warren  did  certainly  pulpit- 
ize  much  better.  Somewhere  I  think  about  April,  1782, 
Judge  Buller,  who  had  been  educated  by  my  father,  sent 
for  me,  having  procured  a  Christ's  Hospital  Presentation. 
I  accordingly  went  to  London,  and  was  received  by  my 
mother's  brother,  Mr.  Bowdon,  a  tobacconist  and  (at  the 
same  time)  clerk  to  an  underwriter.  My  uncle  lived  at 
the  corner  of  the  Stock  Exchange  and  carried  on  his  shop 
by  means  of  a  confidential  servant,  who,  I  suppose,  fleeced 
him  most  unmercifully.  He  was  a  widower  and  had  one 
daughter  who  lived  with  a  Miss  Cabriere,  an  old  maid  of 
great  sensibilities  and  a  taste  for  literature.  Betsy  Bow- 
don had  obtained  an  unlimited  influence  over  her  mind, 
which  she  still  retains.  Mrs.  Holt  (for  this  is  her  name 
now)  was  not  the  kindest  of  daughters  —  but,  indeed,  my 
poor  uncle  would  have  wearied  the  patience  and  affection 
of  an  Euphrasia.  He  received  me  with  great  affection, 


and  I  stayed  ten  weeks  at  his  house,  during  which  time  I 
went  occasionally  to  Judge  Buller's.  My  uncle  was  very 
proud  of  me,  and  used  to  carry  me  from  coffee-house  to 
coffee-house  and  tavern  to  tavern,  where  I  drank  and 
talked  and  disputed,  as  if  I  had  been  a  man.  Nothing  was 
more  common  than  for  a  large  party  to  exclaim  in  my 
hearing  that  I  was  a  prodigy,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  so  that  while 
I  remained  at  my  uncle's  I  was  most  completely  spoiled 
and  pampered,  both  mind  and  body. 

At  length  the  time  came,  and  I  donned  the  blue  coat J 
and  yellow  stockings  and  was  sent  down  into  Hertford,  a 
town  twenty  miles  from  London,  where  there  are  about 
three  hundred  of  the  younger  Blue-Coat  boys.  At  Hert- 
ford I  was  very  happy,  on  the  whole,  for  I  had  plenty  to 
eat  and  drink,  and  pudding  and  vegetables  almost  every 
day.  I  stayed  there  six  weeks,  and  then  was  drafted  up 
to  the  great  school  at  London,  where  I  arrived  in  Septem- 
ber, 1782,  and  was  placed  in  the  second  ward,  then  called 
Jefferies'  Ward,  and  in  the  under  Grammar  School.  There 
are  twelve  wards  or  dormitories  of  unequal  sizes,  beside 
the  sick  ward,  in  the  great  school,  and  they  contained  all 
together  seven  hundred  boys,  of  whom  I  think  nearly  one 
third  were  the  sons  of  clergymen.  There  are  five  schools, 
—  a  mathematical,  a  grammar,  a  drawing,  a  reading  and 
a  writing  school,  —  all  very  large  buildings.  When  a  boy 
is  admitted,  if  he  reads  very  badly,  he  is  either  sent  to 
Hertford  or  the  reading  school.  (N.  B.  Boys  are  admis- 
sible from  seven  to  twelve  years  old.)  If  he  learns  to  read 
tolerably  well  before  nine,  he  is  drafted  into  the  Lower 
Grammar  School ;  if  not,  into  the  Writing  School,  as  hav- 
ing given  proof  of  unfitness  for  classical  attainments.  If 
before  he  is  eleven  he  climbs  up  to  the  first  form  of  the 
Lower  Grammar  School,  he  is  drafted  into  the  head 
Grammar  School ;  if  not,  at  eleven  years  old,  he  is  sent 

1  The  date  of  admission  to  Hert-     later,  September  12,  he  was  sent  up 
ford  was  July  18, 1782.  Eight  weeks     to  London  to  the  great  school. 


20  STUDENT  LIFE 

into  the  Writing  School,  where  he  continues  till  fourteen 
or  fifteen,  and  is  then  either  apprenticed  and  articled  as 
clerk,  or  whatever  else  his  turn  of  mind  or  of  fortune  shall 
have  provided  for  him.  Two  or  three  times  a  year  the 
Mathematical  Master  beats  up  for  recruits  for  the  King's 
boys,  as  they  are  called ;  and  all  who  like  the  Navy  are 
drafted  into  the  Mathematical  and  Drawing  Schools,  where 
they  continue  till  sixteen  or  seventeen,  and  go  out  as  mid- 
shipmen and  schoolmasters  in  the  Navy.  The  boys,  who 
are  drafted  into  the  Head  Grammar  School  remain  there 
till  thirteen,  and  then,  if  not  chosen  for  the  University,  go 
into  the  Writing  School. 

Each  dormitory  has  a  nurse,  or  matron,  and  there  is  a 
head  matron  to  superintend  all  these  nurses.  The  boys 
were,  when  I  was  admitted,  under  excessive  subordination 
to  each  other,  according  to  rank  in  school ;  and  every  ward 
was  governed  by  four  Monitors  (appointed  by  the  Steward, 
who  was  the  supreme  Governor  out  of  school,  —  our  tem- 
poral lord},  and  by  four  Markers,  who  wore  silver  medals 
and  were  appointed  by  the  Head  Grammar  Master,  who 
was  our  supreme  spiritual  lord.  The  same  boys  were  com- 
monly both  monitors  and  markers.  We  read  in  classes  on 
Sundays  to  our  Markers,  and  were  catechized  by  them, 
and  under  their  sole  authority  during  prayers,  etc.  All 
other  authority  was  in  the  monitors ;  but,  as  I  said,  the 
same  boys  were  ordinarily  both  the  one  and  the  other. 
Our  diet  was  very  scanty.1  Every  morning,  a  bit  of  dry 

1  Compare   the    autobiographical  hunger  and   fancy."     Lamb  in  his 

note  of   1832.  "  I  was  in  a  continual  Christ's  Hospital   Five   and    Thirty 

low   fever.     My   whole   being  was,  Years  Ago,  and  Leigh  Hunt  in  his 

with  eyes  closed  to  every  object  of  Autobiography,  are  in  the  same  tale 

present  sense,  to  crumple  myself  up  as  to  the  insufficient  and  ill-cooked 

in  a  sunny  corner  and  read,  read,  meals  of  their  Bluecoat  days.     Life 

read ;    fixing   myself   on   Robinson  of    Coleridge,   by    James    Gillman, 

Crusoe's  Island,  finding  a  mountain  1838,  p.  20 ;  Lamb's  Prose  Works, 

of  plumb  cake,  and  eating  a  room  1836,  ii.  27;  Autobiography  of  Leigh 

for  myself,  and  then  eating  it  into  Hunt,  1860,  p.  60. 
the  shapes  of  tables  and  chairs  — 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  21 

bread  and  some  bad  small  beer.  Every  evening,  a  larger 
piece  of  bread  and  cheese  or  butter,  whichever  we  liked. 
For  dinner,  —  on  Sunday,  boiled  beef  and  broth ;  Monday, 
bread  and  butter,  and  milk  and  water ;  on  Tuesday,  roast 
mutton ;  Wednesday,  bread  and  butter,  and  rice  milk ; 
Thursday,  boiled  beef  and  broth ;  Saturday,  bread  and 
butter,  and  pease-porritch.  Our  food  was  portioned ;  and, 
excepting  on  Wednesdays,  I  never  had  a  .belly  full.  Our 
appetites  were  damped,  never  satisfied ;  and  we  had  no 
vegetables. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

VI.   TO   HIS   MOTHER. 

February  4, 1785  [London,  Christ's  Hospital]. 

DEAR  MOTHER,1  —  I  received  your  letter  with  pleasure 
on  the  second  instant,  and  should  have  had  it  sooner,  but 
that  we  had  not  a  holiday  before  last  Tuesday,  when  my 
brother  delivered  it  me.  I  also  with  gratitude  received 
the  two  handkerchiefs  and  the  half-a-crown  from  Mr.  Bad- 
cock,  to  whom  I  would  be  glad  if  you  would  give  my  thanks. 
I  shall  be  more  careful  of  the  somme,  as  I  now  consider 
that  were  it  not  for  my  kind  friends  I  should  be  as  destitute 
of  many  little  necessaries  as  some  of  my  schoolfellows  are  ; 
and  Thank  God  and  my  relations  for  them !  My  brother 
Luke  saw  Mr.  James  Sorrel,  who  gave  my  brother  a  half- 
a-crown  from  Mrs.  Smerdon,  but  mentioned  not  a  word 
of  the  plumb  cake,  and  said  he  would  call  again.  Return 
my  most  respectful  thanks  to  Mrs.  Smerdon  for  her  kind 
favour.  My  aunt  was  so  kind  as  to  accommodate  me  with 
a  box.  I  suppose  my  sister  Anna's  beauty  has  many  ad- 

1  Coleridge's  "  letters  home  "  were  exception,  preserve  his  letters.     It 

almost  invariably  addressed  to  his  was,  indeed,  a  sorrowful  consequence 

brother  George.     It  may  be  gath-  of  his  "  long  exile  "  at  Christ's  Hos- 

ered  from  his  correspondence  that  at  pital,  that  he  seems  to  have  passed 

rare  intervals  he  wrote  to  his  mother  out  of  his  mother's  ken,  that  absence 

as  well,  but,  contrary  to  her  usual  led  to  something  like  indifference  on 

practice,  she  did  not,  with  this  one  both  sides. 


22  STUDENT  LIFE  [JAN. 

mirers.  My  brother  Luke  says  that  Burke's  Art  of  Speak- 
ing would  be  of  great  use  to  me.  If  Master  Sam  and 
Harry  Badcock  are  not  gone  out  of  (Ottery),  give  my 
kindest  love  to  them.  Give  my  compliments  to  Mr.  Blake 
and  Miss  Atkinson,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smerdon,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Clapp,  and  all  other  friends  in  the  country.  My  uncle, 
aunt,  and  cousins  join  with  myself  and  Brother  in  love  to 
my  sisters,  and  hope  they  are  well,  as  I,  your  dutiful  son, 

S.  COLERIDGE,  am  at  present. 

P.  S.     Give  my  kind  love  to  Molly. 

VII.    TO   THE   REV.    GEORGE   COLERIDGE. 

Undated,  from  Christ's  Hospital,  before  1790. 

DEAR  BROTHER,  —  You  will  excuse  me  for  reminding 
you  that,  as  our  holidays  commence  next  week,  and  I 
shall  go  out  a  good  deal,  a  good  pair  of  breeches  will  be  no 
inconsiderable  accession  to  my  appearance.  For  though 
my  present  pair  are  excellent  for  the  purposes  of  draw- 
ing mathematical  figures  on  them,  and  though  a  walking 
thought,  sonnet,  or  epigram  would  appear  on  them  in 
very  splendid  type,  yet  they  are  not  altogether  so  well 
adapted  for  a  female  eye  —  not  to  mention  that  I  should 
have  the  charge  of  vanity  brought  against  me  for  wearing 
a  looking-glass.  I  hope  you  have  got  rid  of  your  cold  — 
and  I  am  your  affectionate  brother, 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  Can  you  let  me  have  them  time  enough  for  re- 
adaptation  before  Whitsunday  ?  I  mean  that  they  may 
be  made  up  for  me  before  that  time. 

VIII.    TO   THE   SAME. 

October  16,  1791. 

DEAR  BROTHER,  —  Here  I  am,  videlicet,  Jesus  College. 
I  had  a  tolerable  journey,  went  by  a  night  coach  packed 


1792]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  23 

up  with  five  more,  one  of  whom  had  a  long,  broad,  red- 
hot  face,  four  feet  by  three.  I  very  luckily  found  Middle- 
ton  at  Pembroke  College,  who  (after  breakfast,  etc.)  con- 
ducted me  to  Jesus.  Dr.  Pearce  is  in  Cornwall  and  not 
expected  to  return  to  Cambridge  till  the  summer,  and 
what  is  still  more  extraordinary  (and,  n.  b.,  rather  shame- 
ful) neither  of  the  tutors  are  here.  I  keep  (as  the  phrase 
is)  in  an  absent  member's  rooms  till  one  of  the  aforesaid 
duetto  return  to  appoint  me  my  own.  Neither  Lectures, 
Chapel,  or  anything  is  begun.  The  College  is  very  thin, 
and  Middleton  has  not  the  least  acquaintance  with-  any 
of  Jesus  except  a  very  blackguardly  fellow  whose  physiog. 
I  did  not  like.  So  I  sit  down  to  dinner  in  the  Hall  in 
silence,  except  the  noise  of  suction  which  accompanies  my 
eating,  and  rise  up  ditto.  I  then  walk  to  Pembroke  and 
sit  with  my  friend  Middleton.  Pray  let  me  hear  from 
you.  Le  Grice  will  send  a  parcel  in  two  or  three  days. 

Believe  me,  with  sincere  affection  and  gratitude,  yours 
ever, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

IX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

January  24, 1792. 

DEAR  BROTHER,  —  Happy  am  I,  that  the  country  air 
and  exercise  have  operated  with  due  effect  on  your  health 
and  spirits  —  and  happy,  too,  that  I  can  inform  you,  that 
my  own  corporealities  are  in  a  state  of  better  health,  than 
I  ever  recollect  them  to  be.  This  indeed  I  owe  in  great 
measure  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Evans,1  with  whom  I  spent  a 
fortnight  at  Christmas :  the  relaxation  from  study  coop- 
erating with  the  cheerfulness  and  attention,  which  I  met 

1  Compare    the    autobiographical  to  me,  and  taught  me  what  it  was  to 

note  of  1832  as  quoted  by  Gillman.  have  a  mother.     I  loved  her  as  such. 

About  this  time  he  became  acquaint-  She    had    three    daughters,   and   of 

ed  with  a  widow  lady,  "  whose  son,"  course  I  fell  in  love  with  the  eldest." 

says  he,  "  I,  as  upper  boy,  had  pro-  Life  of  Coleridge,  p.  28. 
tected,  and  who  therefore  looked  up 


24  STUDENT  LIFE  [JAN. 

there,  proved  very  potently  medicinal.  I  have  indeed 
experienced  from  her.  a  tenderness  scarcely  inferior  to  the 
solicitude  of  maternal  affection.  I  wish,  my  dear  brother, 
that  some  time,  when  you  walk  into  town,  you  would  call 
at  Villiers  Street,  and  take  a  dinner  or  dish  of  tea  there. 
Mrs.  Evans  has  repeatedly  expressed  her  wish,  and  I  too 
have  made  a  half  promise  that  you  would.  I  assure  you, 
you  will  find  them  not  only  a  very  amiable,  but  a  very 
sensible  family. 

I  send  a  parcel  to  Le  Grice  on  Friday  morningx  which 
(you  may  depend  on  it  as  a  certainty^)  will  contain  your 
sermon.  I  hope  you  will  like  it. 

I  am  sincerely  concerned  at  the  state  of  Mr.  Sparrow's 
health.  Are  his  complaints  consumptive?  Present  my 
respects  to  him  and  Mrs.  Sparrow. 

When  the  Scholarship  falls,  I  do  not  know.  It  must 
be  in  the  course  of  two  or  three  months.  I  do  not  relax 
in  my  exertions,  neither  do  I  find  it  any  impediment  to  my 
mental  acquirements  that  prudence  has  obliged  me  to  re- 
linquish the  mediae  pallescere  nocti.  We  are  examined 
as  Rustats,1  on  the  Thursday  in  Easter  "Week.  The  ex- 
amination for  my  year  is  "  the  last  book  of  Homer  and 
Horace's  De  Arte  Poetica"  The  Master  (i,  e.  Dr.  Pearce) 
told  me  that  he  would  do  me  a  service  by  pushing  my 
examination  as  deep  as  he  possibly  could.  If  ever  hogs- 
lard  is  pleasing,  it  is  when  our  superiors  trowel  it  on. 
Mr.  Frend's  company  2  is  by  no  means  invidious.  On  the 
contrary,  Pearce  himself  is  very  intimate  with  him.  No ! 

1  Scholarship    of    Jesus    College,  alarm.     He  was  deprived  of  his  Fel- 
Cambridge,  for  sons  of  clergymen.  lowship,  April  17,  and  banished  from 

2  At  this  time  Frend  was  still  a  the  University,  May  30, 1793.    Cole- 
Fellow  of  Jesus  College.     Five  years  ridge's    demeanour   in     the    Senate 
had  elapsed  since  he  had  resigned  House  on  the  occasion  of  Frend's  trial 
from  conscientious  motives  the  living  before  the  Vice-Chancellor  forms  the 
of  Madingley  in  Cambridgeshire,  but  subject  of  various  contradictory  an- 
it  was  not  until  after  the  publication  ecdotes.    See  Life  of  Coleridge,  1838, 
of  his  pamphlet  Peace  and   Union,  p.  55 ;    Reminiscences  of  Cambridge, 
in   1793,  that  the   authorities  took  Henry  Gunning,  1855,  i.  272-275. 


1792]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  25 

Though  I  am  not  an  Alderman,  I  have  yet  prudence 
enough  to  respect  that  gluttony  of  faith  waggishly  yclept 
orthodoxy. 

Philanthropy  generally  keeps  pace  with  health  —  my 
acquaintance  becomes  more  general.  I  am  intimate  with 
an  undergraduate  of  our  College,  his  name  Caldwell,1  who 
is  pursuing  the  same  line  of  study  (nearly)  as  myself. 
Though  a  man  of  fortune,  he  is  prudent ;  nor  does  he  lay 
claim  to  that  right,  which  wealth  confers  on  its  possessor, 
of  being  a  fool.  Middleton  is  fourth  senior  optimate  — 
an  honourable  place,  but  by  no  means  so  high  as  the  whole 
University  expected,  or  (I  believe)  his  merits  deserved. 
He  desires  his  love  to  Stevens : 2  to  which  you  will  add 
mine. 

At  what  time  am  I  to  receive  my  pecuniary  assistance  ? 
Quarterly  or  half  yearly  ?  The  Hospital  issue  their  money 
half  yearly,  and  we  receive  the  products  of  our  scholar- 
ship at  once,  a  little  after  Easter.  Whatever  additional 
supply  you  and  my  brother  may  have  thought  necessary 
would  be  therefore  more  conducive  to  my  comfort,  if  I 
received  it  quarterly  —  as  there  are  a  number  of  little 
things  which  require  us  to  have  some  ready  money  in  our 
pockets  —  particularly  if  we  happen  to  be  unwell.  But 
this  as  well  as  everything  of  the  pecuniary  kind  I  leave 
entirely  ad  arbitrium  tuum. 

I  have  written  my  mother,  of  whose  health  I  am  rejoiced 
to  hear.  God  send  that  she  may  long  continue  to  recede 

1  The  Rev.  George  Caldwell  was  He  was  at  this  time  Senior- Assistant 
afterwards    Fellow   and    Tutor    of  Master   at  Newcome's  Academy  at 
Jesus    College.      His    name   occurs  Clapton  near  Hackney,  and   a  col- 
among  the  list  of  subscribers  to  the  league  of   George    Coleridge.     The 
original  issue  of  The  Friend.      Let-  school,  which  belonged  to  three  gen- 
ders of  the  Lake  Poets,  1889,  p.  452.  erations  of  Newcomes,  was  of  high 

2  "  First  Grecian  of  my  time  was  repute  as  a  private    academy,  and 
Launcelot  Pepys  Stevens  [Stephens],  commanded   the  services  of    clever 
kindest  of  boys  and  men,  since  the  young  schoolmasters  as  assistants  or 
Co -Grammar  Master,   and   insepa-  ushers.     Mr.  Sparrow,  whose  name 
rable  companion  of  Dr.  T[rollop]e."  is  mentioned  in  the  letter,  was  head- 
Lamtfs  Prose  Works,   1835,  ii.  45.  master. 


26  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

from  old  age,  while  she  advances  towards  it !     Pray  write 
me  very  soon. 

Yours  with  gratitude  and  affection, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

X.    TO   MRS.    EVANS. 

February  13,  1792. 

MY  VERY  DEAR,  —  What  word  shall  I  add  sufficiently 
expressive  of  the  warmth  which  I  feel  ?  You  covet  to  be 
near  my  heart.  Believe  me,  that  you  and  my  sister  have 
the  very  first  row  in  the  front  box  of  my  heart's  little 
theatre  —  and  —  God  knows !  you  are  not  crowded. 
There,  my  dear  spectators !  you  shall  see  what  you  shall 
see  —  Farce,  Comedy,  and  Tragedy  —  my  laughter,  my 
cheerfulness,  and  my  melancholy.  A  thousand  figures 
pass  before  you,  shifting  in  perpetual  succession ;  these 
are  my  joys  and  my  sorrows,  my  hopes  and  my  fears,  my 
good  tempers  and  my  peevishness/:  you  will,  however,  ob- 
^$&f  serve  tafo  that  remain  "unalterably&ced,  and  these  are  love 
i  and  gratitude.  In  short,  my  dear  Mrs.  Evans(  my  whole 
hear!  shall  be  laid  open  like  any  sheep's  heart ;  my  virtues, 
if  I  have  any,  shall  not  be  more  exposed  to  your  view  than 
my  weaknesses.  Indeed,  I  am  of  opinion  that  foibles  are 
the  cement  of  affection,  and  that,  however  we  may  admire 
a  perfect  character,  we  are  seldom  inclined  to  love  and 
praise  those  whom  we  cannot  sometimes  blame.  Come, 
ladies !  will  you  take  your  seats  in  this  play-house  ?  Fool 
that  I  am !  Are  you  not  already  there  ?  Believe  me, 
you  are ! 

I  am  extremely  anxious  to  be  informed  concerning  your 
health.  Have  you  not  felt  the  kindly  influence  of  this 
more  than  vernal  weather,  as  well  as  the  good  effects  of 
your  own  recommenced  regularity  ?  I  would  I  could  trans- 
mit you  a  little  of  my  superfluous  good  health !  I  am 
indeed  at  present  most  wonderfully  well,  and  if  I  continue 
so,  I  may  soon  be  mistaken  for  one  of  your  very  children : 


1792]  TO  MRS.  EVANS  27 

at  least,  in  clearness  of  complexion  and  rosiness  of  cheek 
I  am  no  contemptible  likeness  of  them,  though  that 
ugly  arrangement  of  features  with  which  ^nature  has  dis- 
tinguished me  will,  I  fear,  long  stand  in  the  way  of  such 
honorable  assimilation.  You  accuse  me  of  evading  the 
bet,  and  imagine  that  my  silence  proceeded  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  charge.  But  you  are  mistaken.  I  not 
only  read  your  letter  first,  but,  on  my  sincerity !  I  felt 
no  inclination  to  do  otherwise ;  and  I  am  confident,  that 
if  Mary  had  happened  to  have  stood  by  me  and  had  seen 
me  take  up  Tier  letter  in  preference  to  her  mother's,  with 
all  that  ease  and  energy  which  she  can  so  gracefully  exert 
upon  proper  occasions,  she  would  have  lifted  up  her  beau- 
tiful little  leg,  and  kicked  me  round  the  room.  Had  Anne 
indeed  favoured  me  with  a  few  lines,  I  confess  I  should 
have  seized  hold  of  them  before  either  of  your  letters ; 
but  then  this  would  have  arisen  from  my  love  of  novelty, 
and  not  from  any  deficiency  in  filial  respect.  So  much 
for  your  bet ! 

You  can  scarcely  conceive  what  uneasiness  poor  Tom's 
accident  has  occasioned  me ;  in  everything  that  relates 
to  him  I  feel  solicitude  truly  fraternal.  Be  particular 
concerning  him  in  your  next.  I  was  going  to  write  him 
an  half -angry  letter  for  the  long  intermission  of  his  cor- 
respondence ;  but  I  must  change  it  to  a  consolatory  one. 
You  mention  not  a  word  of  Bessy.  Think  you  I  do  not 
love  her  ? 

And  so,  my  dear  Mrs.  Evans,  you  are  to  take  your 
Wel^h  journey  in  May?  Now  may  the^ Goddess  of 
Health,  the  rosy-cheeked  .goddess  that  blows  the  breeze 
from  the  Cambrian  mountains,  renovate  that  dear  old 
lady,  and  make  her  young  again  !  I  always  loved  that 
old  lady's  looks.  Yet  do  not  flatter  yourselves,  that  you 
shall  take  this  journey  tete-a-tete.  You  will  have  an  un- 
seen companion  at  your  side,  one  who  will  attend  you  in 
your  jaunt,  who  will  be  present  at  your  arrival ;  one  whose 


28  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

heart  will  melt  with  unutterable  tenderness  at  your  ma- 
ternal transports,  who  will  climb  the  Welj&i  hills  with  you, 
who  will  feel  himself  happy  in  knowing  you  to  be  so.     In 
i     short,  as  St.  Paul  says,  though  absent  in  body,  I  shall  be 
/     present  in  mind.     Disappointment  ?     You  must  not,  you 
shall  not  be  disappointed  ;  and  if  a  poetical  invocation  can 
help  you  to  drive  off  that  ugly  foe  to  Ijappiness  here  it  is 
for  you. 

TO  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Hence !  thou  fiend  of  gloomy  sway, 
Thou  lov'st  on  withering  blast  to  ride 
O'er  fond  Illusion's  air-built  pride. 

Sullen  Spirit !  Hence  !  Away ! 

Where  Avarice  lurks  in  sordid  cell, 
Or  mad  Ambition  builds  the  dream, 
Or  Pleasure  plots  th'  unholy  scheme 

There  with  Guilt  and  Folly  dwell ! 

But  oh  !  when  Hope  on  Wisdom's  wing 
Prophetic  whispers  pure  delight, 
Be  distant  far  thy  cank'rous  blight, 

Demon  of  en  venom 'd  sting. 

Then  haste  thee,  Nymph  of  balmy  gales ! 
Thy  poet's  prayer,  sweet  May  !  attend  ! 
Oh  !  place  my  jsarent  and  my  Jriend 

'Mid  her  lovely  native  vales. 

>      Peace,  that  lists  the  woodlark's  strains, 
Health,  that  breathes  divinest  treasures, 
Laughing  Hours,  and  Social  Pleasures 
Wait  my  friend  in  Cambria's  plains. 

Affection  there  with  mingled  ray 
Shall  pour  at  once  the  raptures  high 


1792]  TO  MRS.  EVANS.  29 

Of  Jilial  andjmaternal  Joy; 

Haste  thee  then,  delightful  May ! 

And  oh !  may  Spring's  fair  flowerets  fade, 
May  Summer  cease  her  limbs  to  lave 
In  cooling  stream,  may  Autumn  grave 

Yellow  o'er  the  corn-cloath'd  glade  ; 

Ere,  from  sweet  retirement  torn, 
She  seek  again  the  crowded  mart : 
Nor  thou,  my  selfish,  selfish  heart 

Dare  her  slow  return  to  mourn  ! 

In  what  part  of  the  country  is  my  dear  Anne  to  be  ? 
Mary  must  and  shall  be  with  you.  I  want  to  know  all 
your  summer  residences,  that  I  may  be  on  that  very  spot 
with  all  of  you.  It  is  not  improbable  that  I  may  steal 
down  from  Cambridge  about  the  beginning  of  April  just 
to  look  at  you,  that  when  I  see  you  again  in  jyitumn  I 
may  know  how  many  years  younger  the  Wel/h  air  has 
made  jou./f  I  shall  go  into  Devonshire  on  the  21st  of 
May,  unless  my  good  fortune  in  a  particular  affair  should 
detain  me  -tiH-  the  4th  of  June. 

I  lately  received  the  thanks  of  the  College  for  a  decla- 
mation l  I  spoke  in  public  ;  indeed,  I  meet  with  the  most 
pointed  marks  of  respect,  which,  as  I  neither  flatter  nor 
fiddle,  I  suppose  to  be  sincere.  I  write  these  things  not 
from  vanity,  but  because  I  know  they  will  please  you. 

I  intend  to  leave  off  suppers,  and  two  or  three  other 
little  unnecessaries,  and  in  conjunction  with  Caldwell  hire 
a  garden  for  the  summer.  It  will  be  nice  exercise  —  your 
advice.  La  !  it  will  be  so  charming  to  walk  out  in  one's 
own  garding,  and  sit  and  drink  tea  in  an  arbour,  and 

1  A   Latin    essay   on  Posthumous  served  at  Jesus  College,  Cambridge. 

Fame,   described  as  a   declamation  Some  extracts  were  printed  in  the 

and  stated  to  have  been  composed  by  College   magazine,   The  Chanticleer, 

S.  T.  Coleridge,  March,  1792,  is  pre-  Lent  Term,  1886. 


30  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

pick  pretty  nosegays.     To  plant  and  transplant,  and  be 
dirty  and  amused  !     Then  to  look  with  contempt  on  your         ,    * 
Londoners  with   your   mock   gardens  ->nd   your   smoky      ^M 
windows,  making  a  beggarly  show  of    withered  flowers 
stuck  in  pint  pots,  and  quart  potsy  menacing  the  heads  of 
the  passengers 


Now  suppoBe-f~conclude  something  in  the  manner  with 
which  Mary  concludes  all  her  letters  to  me,  "  Believe 
me  your  sincere  friend,"  and  dutiful  humble  servant  to 
command ! 

Now  I  do  hate  that  way  of  concluding  a  letter.   'T  is 
as  dry  as  a  stick,  as  stiff  as  a  poker,  and  as  cold  as  a 
cucumber.     It  is  not  half  so  good  as  my  old 
God  bless  you 

and 

Your  affectionately  grateful 
I^J  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XI.   TO   MART   EVANS. 
tA\fl      ""nOVTv  February  13,  11  o'clock. 

y. .    _—         Fen  of  the  most  talkative  young  ladies  now  in  London  ! 

\  Now  by  the  most  accurate  calculation  of  the  specific 

"  '  •  quantities  of  sounds,  a  female  tongue,  when  it  exerts  itself 
to  the  utmost,  equals  the  noise  of  eighteen  sign-posts, 
which  the  wind  swings  backwards  and  forwards  in  full 
creak.  If  then  one  equals  eighteen,  ten  must  equal  one 
hundred  and  eighty ;  consequently,  the  circle  at  Jermyn 
Street  unitedly  must  have  produced  a  noise  equal  to 
that  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  old  crazy  sign  -  posts, 
inharmoniously  agitated  as  aforesaid.  Well !  to  be  sure, 
there  are  few  disagreeables  for  which  the  pleasure  of 
Mary  and  Anne  Evans'  company  would  not  amply  com- 
pensate ;  but  faith !  I  feel  myself  half  inclined  to  thank 
God  that  I  was  fifty-two  miles  off  during  this  clattering 
clapperation  of  tongues.  Do  you  keep  ale  at  Jermyn 
Street  ?  If  so,  I  hope  it  is  not  soured. 


1792]  TO  MARY  EVANS  81 

Such,  my  dear  Mary,  were  the  reflections  that  instantly 
suggested  themselves  to  me  on  reading  the  former  part 
of  your  letter.  Believe  me,  however,  that  my  gratitude 
keeps  pace  with  my  sense  of  your  exertions,  as  I  can  most 
feelingly  conceive  the  difficulty  of  writing  amid  that 
second  edition  of  Babel  with  additions.  That  your  health 
is  restored  gives  me  sincere  delight.  May  the  giver  of 
all  pleasure  and  pain  preserve  it  so  !  I  am  likewise  glad 
to  hear  that  your  hand  is  re-whiten^  though  I  cannot 
help  smiling  at  a  certain  young  lady's  effrontery  in  having 
boxed  a  young  gentleman's  ears~till  her  own  hand  became 
black  and  blue,  and  attributing  those  unseemly  marks  to 
the  poor  unfortunate  object  of  her  resentment.  You  are 
at  liberty,  certainly,  to  say  what  you  please. 

It  has  been  confidently  affirmed  by  most  excellent 
judges  (tho'  the  best  may  be  mistaken)  that  I  have  grown 
very  handsome  lately.  Pray  that  I  may  have  grace  not 
to  be  vain.  Yet,  ah !  who  can  read  the  stories  of  Pamela, 
or  Joseph  Andrews,  or  Susannah  and  the  three  Elders, 
and  not  perceive  what  a  dangerous  snare  beauty  is  ? 
Beauty  is  like  the  grass,  that  groweth  up  in  the  morning 
and  is  withered  before  night.  Mary  !  Anne !  Do  not  be 
vain  of  your  beauty ! !  ! ! ! 

I  keep  a  cat.  Amid  the  strange  collection  of  strange 
animals  with  which  I  am  surrounded,  I  think  it  necessary 
to  have  some  meek  well-looking  being,  that  I  may  keep 
my  social  affections  alive.  Puss,  like  her  master,  is  a 
very  gentle  brute,  and  I  behave  to  her  with  all  possible 
politeness.  Indeed,  a  cat  is  a  very  worthy  animal.  To 
be  sure,  I  have  known  some  very  malicious  cats  in  my 
lifetime,  but  then  they  were  old  —  and  besides,  they  had 
not  nearly  so  many  legs  as  you,  my  sweet  Pussy.  I  wish, 
Puss  !  I  could  break  you  of  that  indecorous  habit  of 
turning  your  back  front  to  the  fire.  It  is  not  frosty 
weather  now. 

N.  B.  —  If  ever,  Mary,  you  should  feel  yourself  inclined 


32  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

to  visit  me  at  Cambridge,  pray  do  not  suffer  the  consid- 
eration of  my  having  a  cat  to  deter  you.  Indeed,  I  will 
keep  her  chained  up  all  the  while  you  stay. 

I  was  in  company  the  other  day  with  a  very  dashing 
literary  lady.  After  my  departure,  a  friend  of  mine 
asked  her  her  opinion  of  me.  She  answered:  "  The  best 
I  can  say  of  him  is,  that  he  is  a  very  gentle  _bear."  What 
think  you  of  this  character  ? 

What  a  lovely  anticipation  offspring  the  last  three  or 
four  days  have  afforded^  NatureTfas  not  been  very  profuse 
of  her  ornaments  to  the  country  about  Cambridge ;  yet 
the  clear  rivulet  that  runs  through  the  grove  adjacent  to 
our  College,  and  the  numberless  little  birds  (particularly 
robins)  that  are  singing  away,  and  above  all,  the  little 
iambs,  each  by  the  side  of  its  mother,  recall  the  most 
^pleasing  ideas  of  pastoral  simplicity,  and  almost  soothe 
one's  soul  into  congenial  innocence.  Amid  these  delight- 
ful scenes,  of  which  the  uncommon  flow  of  health  I  at 
present  possess  permits  me  the  full  enjoyment,  I  should 
not  deign  to  think  of  London,  were  it  not  for  a  little 
family,  whom  I  trust  I  need  not  name.  What  bird  of 
the  air  whispers,  me  that  you  too  will  soon  enjoy  the  same 
and  more  delightful  pleasures  in  a  much  more  delightful 
country?  What  we  strongly  wish  we  are  very  apt  to 
believe.  At  present,  my  presentiments  on  that  head 
amount  to  confidence. 

Last  Sunday,  Middleton  and  I  set  off  at  one  o'clock  on 
a  ramble.  We  sauntered  on,  chatting  and  contemplating, 
till  to  our  great  surprise  we  came  to  a  village  seven  miles 
from  Cambridge.  And  here  at  a  farmhouse  we  drank 
tea.  The  rusticity  of  the  habitation  and  the  inhabitants 
was  charming ;  we  had  cream  to  our  tea,  which  though 
not  brought  in  a  lordly  dish,  Sisera  would  have  jumped  at. 
Being  -here  informed  that  we  could  return  to  Cambridge 
another  way,  over  a  common,  for  the  sake  of  diversifying 
our  walk,  we  chose  this  road,  "  if  road  it  might  be  called, 


1792]  TO  MARY  EVANS  33 

where  road  was  none,"  though  we  were  not  unapprized  of 
its  difficulties.  The  fine  weather  deceived  us.  We  forgot 
that  it  was  a  summer  day  in  warmth  only,  and  not  in 
length ;  but  we  were  soon  reminded  of  it.  For  on  the 
pathless  solitude  of  this  common,  the  night  overtook  us  — 
we  must  have  been  four  miles-distant  from  Cambridge  — 
the  night,  though  calm,  was  as  dark  as  the  place  was 
dreary:  here  steering  our  course  by  our  imperfect  con- 
ceptions of  the  point  in  which  we  conjectured  Cambridge 
to  lie,  we  wandered  on  "  with  cautious  steps  and  slow." 
We  feared  the  bog,  the  stump,  and  the  fen  :  we  feared 
the  ghosts  of  the  night  —  at  least,  those  material  and 
knock-me-down  ghosts,  the  apprehension  of  which  causes 
you,  Mary  (valorous  girl  that  you  are !),  always  to  peep 
under  your  bed  of  a  night.  As  we  were  thus  creeping 
forward  like  the  two  children  in  the  wood,  we  spy'd 
something  white  moving  across  the  common.  This  we 
made  up  to,  though  contrary  to  our  supposed  destination. 
It  proved  to  be  a  man  with  a  white  bundle.  We  enquired 
our  way,  and  ^luckily\he]  was  going  to  Cambridge.  He 
informed  us  that  we  hacTgone  half  a  mile  out  of  our  way, 
and  that  in  five  minutes  more  we  must  have  arrived  at  a 
deep  quagmire  grassed  over.  What  an  escape !  The  man 
was  as  glad  of  our  company  as  we  of  his  —  for,  it  seemed, 
the  poor  fellow  was  afraid  of  Jack  o'  Lanthorns  —  the 
superstition  of  this  county  attributing  a  kind  of  fascina- 
'  tion  to  those  wandering  vapours,  so  that  whoever  fixes  his 
eyes  on  them  is  forced  by  some  irresistible  impulse  to 
follow  them.  He  entertained  us  with  many  a  dreadful 
tale.  By  nine  o'clock  we  arrived  at  Cambridge,  betired 
and  bemudded.  I  never  recollect  to  have  been  so  much 
fatigued. 

Do  you  spell  the  word  scarsely  ?  When  Momus,  the 
fault-finding  God,  endeavoured  to  discover  some  imper- 
fection in  Venus,  he  could  only  censure  the  creaking  of 
her  slipper.  I,  too,  Momuslike,  can  only  fall  foul  on  a 


34 


STUDENT  LIFE 


[FEB. 


single  s.  Yet  will  not  my  dear  Mary  be  angry  with  me, 
or  think  the  remark  trivial,  when  she  considers  that  half 
a  grain  is  of  consequence  in  the  weight  of  a  diamond. 

I  had  entertained  hopes  that  you  would  really  have 
sent  me  a  piece  of  sticking  plaister,  which  would  have 
been  very  convenient  at  that  time,  I  having  cut  my  finger. 
I  had  to  buy  sticking  plaister,  etc.  What  is  the  use  of  a 
man's  knowing  you  girls,  if  he  cannot  chouse  you  out  of 
such  little  things  as  that  ?  Do  not  your  fingers,  Mary, 
feel  an  odd  kind  of  titillation  to  be  about  my  ears  for  my 
impudence  ? 

On  Saturday  night,  as  I  was  sitting  by  myself  all  alone, 
I  heard  a  creaking  sound,  something  like  the  noise  which 
a  crazy  chair  would  make,  if  pressed  by  the  tremendous 
weight  of  _Mr.  Barlow's  extremities.  I  cast  my  eyes 
around,  and  what  should  I  behold  but  a  Ghost  rising  out 
of  the  floor  !  A  deadly  paleness  instantly  overspread  my 
body,  which  retained  no  other  symptom  of  life  "bjit  its 
violent  trembling.  My  hair  (as  is  usual  in  frights  of  this 
nature)  stood  upright  by  many  degrees  stiffer  than  the 

oaks  of  the  mountains,  yea,  stiffer  than  Mr. ;  yet 

was  it  rendered  oily-pliant  by  the  profuse  perspiration 
that  burst  from  every  pore.  This  spirit  advanced  with  a 
book  in  -feis  hand,  and  having  first  dissipated  my  terrors, 
said  as  follows  :  "  I  am  the  Ghost  of  Gray.  There  lives 
a  young  lady  "  (then  he  mentioned  your  name),  "  of  whose 
judgment  I  entertain  so  high  an  opinion,  that  her  appro- 
bation of  my  works  would  make  the  turf  lie  lighter  on 
me  ;  present  her  with  this  book,  and  transmit  it  to  her  as 
soon  as  possible,  adding  my  jpve  to  her.  And,  as  for  you, 
O  young  man ! "  (now  he  addressed  himself  to  me)  "  write 
no  more  verses.  In  the  first  place  your  poetry  is  vile 
stuff ;  and  secondly  "  (here  he  sighed  almost  to  bursting), 
"  all  poets  go  to  — 11 ;  we  are  so  intolerably  addicted  to  the 
vice  of  Jying  !  "  He  vanished,  and  convinced  me  of  the 
truth  of  his  last  dismal  account  by  the  sulphurous  stink 
which  he  left  behind  him. 


1792]  TO  MARY  EVANS  35 


first  mandate  I  have  obeyed,  and,  I  hope  you  will 
receive  safe  your  ghostly  admirer's  present.  But  so  far 
have  I  been  from  obeying  his  second  injunction,  that  I 
never  had  the  scribble-mania  stronger  on  me  than  for  these- 
last  three  or  four  days  :  nay,  not  content  with  suffering  it 
myself,  I  must  pester  those  I  love  best  with  the  blessed 
effects  of  my  disorder. 

Besides  two  things,  which  you  will  find  in  the  next 
sheet,  I  cannot  forbear  filling  the  remainder  of  this 
sheet  with  an  Odeling,  though  I  know  and  approve  your 
aversion  to  mere  prettiness,  and  tfeettgh  my  tiny  love 
ode  possesses  no  other  property  in  the  world.  Let  then 
its  shortness  recommend  it  to  your  perusal  —  by  the  by, 
the  only  thing  in  which  it  resembles  you,  for  wit,  sense, 
elegance,  or  beauty  it  has  none. 

AN  ODE  IN  THE  MANNER  OF  ANACREON.i 

As  late  in  wreaths  gay  flowers  I  bound, 
Beneath  some  roses  Love  I  found, 
And  by  his  little  frolic  pinion 
As  quick  as  thought  I  seiz'd  the  minion, 
Then  in  my  cup  the  prisoner  threw, 
And  drank  him  in  its  sparkling  dew  : 
And  sure  I  feel  my  angry  guest 
Flutt'ring  his  wings  within  my  breast  ! 

Are  you  quite  asleep,  dear  Mary  ?  Sleep  on  ;  but  when 
you  awake,  read  the  following  productions,  and  then,  I  '11 
be  bound,  you  will  sleep  again  sounder  than  ever. 

A  WISH  WRITTEN  IN  JESUS  WOOD,  FEBRUARY  10, 

1792.2 

Lo  !  through  the  dusky  silence  of  the  groves, 
Thro'  vales  irriguous,  and  thro'  green  retreats, 
With  languid  murmur  creeps  the  placid  stream 
And  works  its  secret  way. 

1  Poetical  Works,  p.  19.  2  Ibid.  p.  19. 


36  .     STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

Awhile  meand'ring  round  its  native  fields, 
It  rolls  the  playful  wave  and  winds  its  flight : 
Then  downward  flowing  with  awaken'd  speed 
Embosoms  in  the  Deep  ! 

Thus  thro'  its  silent  tenor  may  my  Life 

Smooth  its  meek  stream  by  sordid  wealth  unclogg'd, 

Alike  unconscious  of  forensic  storms, 

And  Glory's  blood-stain'd  palm ! 

And  when  dark  Age  shall  close  Life's  little  day, 
Satiate  of  sport,  and  weary  of  its  toils, 
E'en  thus  may  slumb'rous  Death  my  decent  limbs 
Compose  with  icy  hand ! 

A  LOVER'S  COMPLAINT  TO  HIS  MISTRESS 

WHO   DESERTED   HIM  IN   QUEST   OF  A   MORE   WEALTHY   HUSBAND  IN 
THE  EAST   INDIES.1 

The  dubious  light  sad  glimmers  o'er  the  sky : 
.     'T  is ^ilence  all.     By  lonely  anguish  torn, 
With  wandering  feet  to  gloomy  groves  I  fly, 
And  wakeful  Love  still  tracks  my  course  forlorn. 

And  will  you,  cruel  Julia  ?  will  you  go  ? 
And  trust  you  to  the  Ocean's  dark  dismay  ? 
Shall  the  wide,  wat'ry  world  between  us  flow-? 
And  winds  unpitying  snatch  my  Hopes  away  ? 

Thus  could  you  sport  with  my  too  easy  heart  ? 
Yet  tremble,  lest  not  unaveng'd  I  grieve  ! 
The  winds  may  learn  your  own  delusive  art, 
And  faithless  Ocean  smile  —  but  to  deceive ! 

']    /I  have  written  too  long  a  letter/   Give  me  a  hint,  and 
/  'I^will  avoid  a  repetition  of  the  offence. 

«It-Is   a   compensation   for   the    above  -  written   rhymes 

1  Poetical  Works,  p.  20. 


1792]  TO  ANNE  EVANS  37 

(which  if  you  ever  condescend  to  read  a  second  time,  pray 
let  it  be  by  the  light  of  their  own  flames)  in  my  next  let- 
ter I  will  send  some  delicious  poetry  lately  published  by 
the  exquisite  Bowles. 

To-morrow  morning  I  fill  the  rest  of  this  sheet  with  a 
letter  to  Anne.  And  now,  good-night,  dear  sister !  and 
peaceful  slumbers  await  us  both  ! 

S.   T.    COLEKIDGE. 


XII.   TO   ANNE   EVANS. 

February  19,  1792. 

DEAR  ANNE,  —  To  be  sure  I  felt  myself  rather  disap- 
pointed at  my  not  receiving  a  few  lines  from  you  ;  but  I 
am  nevertheless  greatly  rejoiced  at  your  amicable  dispo- 
sitions towards  me.  Please  to  aecept  two  kisses,  as  the 
seals  of  reconciliation  —  you  will  find  them  on  the  word 
"  Anne  "  at  the  beginning  of  the  letter  —  at  least,  there  I 
left  them.  I  must,  however,  give  you  warning,  that  the 
next  time  you  are  affronted  with  Brother  Coly,  and  show 
your  resentment  by  that  most  cruel  of  all  punishments, 
silence,  I  shall  address  a  letter  to  you  as  long  and  as  sor- 
rowful as  Jeremiah's  Lamentations,  and  somewhat  in  the 
style  of  your  sister's  favourite  lover,  beginning  with,  — 

TO   THE   IRASCIBLE   MISS. 

DEAR  Miss,  &c. 

My  dear  Anne,  you  are  my  Valentine.  I  dreamt  of 
you  this  morning,  and  I  have  seen  no  female  in  the  whole 
course  of  the  day,  except  an  old  bedmaker  belonging  to 
the  College,  and  I  don't  count  her  one,  as  the  bristle  of 
her  beard  makes  me  suspect  her  to  be  of  the  masculine 
gender.  Some  one  of  the  genii  must  have  conveyed  your 
image  to  me  so  opportunely,  nor  will  you  think  this  im- 
possible, if  you  will  read  the  little  volumes  which  contain 
their  exploits,  and  crave  the  honour  of  your  acceptance. 


38  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

If  I  could  draw,  I  would  have  sent  a  pretty  heart  stuck 
through  with  arrows,  with  some  such  sweet  posy  under- 
neath it  as  this  :  — 

"  The  rose  is  red,  the  violet  blue  ; 
The  pink  is  sweet,  and  so  are  you." 

But  as  the  Gods  have  not  made  me  a  drawer  (of  anything 
but  corks),  you  must  accept  the  will  for  the  deed. 

You  never  wrote  or  desired  your  sister  to  write  concern- 
ing the  bodily  health  of  the  Barlowites,  though  you  know 
my  affection  for  that  family.  Do  not  forget  this  in  your 
next. 

Is  Mr.  Caleb  Barlow  recovered  of  the  rheumatism? 
The  quiet  ugliness  of  Cambridge  supplies  me  with  very 
few  communicables  in  the  news  way.  The  most  important 
is,  that  Mr.  Tim  Grubskin,  of  this  town,  citizen,  is  dead. 
Poor  man  !  he  loved  fish  too  well.  A  violent  commotion 
in  his  bowels  carried  him  off.  They  say  he  made  a  very 
good  end.  There  is  his  epitaph  :  — 

"  A  loving  friend  and  tender  parent  dear, 
Just  in  all  actions,  and  he  the  Lord  did  fear, 
Hoping,  that,  when  the  day  of  Resurrection  come, 

He  shall  arise  in  glory  like  the  Sun." 

It  was  composed  by  a  Mr.  Thistle  wait,  the  town  crjer, 
and  is  much  admired.  We  are  all  mortal  !  ! 

His  wife  carries  on  the  business.  It  is  whispered  about 
the  town  that  a  match  between  her  and  Mr.  Coe,  the  shoe- 
maker, is  not  improbable.  He  certainly  seems  very  assid- 
uous in  consoling  her,  but  as  to  anything  matrimonial  I 
do  not  write  it  as  a  well  authenticated  fact. 

I  went  the  other  evening  to  the  concert,  and  spent  the 
time  there  much  to  my  heart's  content  in  cursing  Mr. 
Hague,  who  played  on  the  violin  most  piggishly,  and  a 
Miss  (I  forget  her  name)  —  Miss  Humstrum,  who  sung 
most  sowishly.  O  the  Billington  !  That  I  should  be  ab- 
sent during  the  oratorios  !  The  prince  unable  to  conceal 
his  pain  !  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  I  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 


1792]  TO   MRS.  EVANS  39 

To  which  house  is  Mrs.  B.  engaged  this  season  ? 

The  mutton  and  winter  cabbage  are  confoundedly  tough 
here,  though  very  venerable  for  their  old  age.  Were  you 
ever  at  Cambridge,  Anne  ?  The  river  Cam  is  a  handsome 
stream  of  a  muddy  complexion,  somewhat  like  Miss  Yates, 
to  whom  you  will  present  my  love  (if  you  like). 

In  Cambridge  there  are  sixteen  colleges,  that  look  like 
workhouses,  and  fourteen  churches  that  look  like  little 
houses.  The  town  is  very  fertile  in  alleys,  and  mud,  and 
cats,  and  dogs,  besides  men,  women,  ravens,  clergy,  proc- 
tors, tutors,  owls,  and  other  two-legged  cattle.  It  like- 
wise —  but  here  I  must  interrupt  my  description  to  hurry 
to  Mr.  Costobadie's  lectures  on  Euclid,  who  is  as  mathe- 
matical an  author,  nly  dear  Anne,  as  you  would  wish  to 
read  on  a  long  summer's  day.  Addio  !  God  bless  you, 
ma  chere  soeur,  and  your  affectionate  frere, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  I  add  a  postscript  on  purpose  to  communicate  a 
joke  to  you.  A  party  of  us  had  been  drinking  wine  to- 
gether, and  three  or  four  freshmen  were  most  deplorably 
intoxicated.  (I  have  too  great  a  respect  for  delicacy  to 
say  cjrunk.)  As  we  were  returning  homewards,  two  of 
them  fell  into  the  gutter  (or  kennel).  We  ran  to  assist 
one  of  them,  who  very  generously  stuttered  out,  as  he  lay 
sprawling  in  the  mud  :  "  N-n-n-no  —  n-n-no  !  —  save  my 
f-fr-fr-friend  there  ;  n-never  mind  me,  1^  can  swim." 

Won't  you  write  me  a  long  letter  now,  Anne  ? 

P.  S.  Give  my  respectful  compliments  to  Betty,  and 
say  that  I  enquired  after  her  health  with  the  most  em- 
phatic energy  of  impassioned  avidity. 

XIII.    TO   MRS.    EVANS. 

February  22  [?  1792]. 

DEAR  MADAM,  —  The  incongruity  of  the  dates  in  these 
letters  you  will  immediately  perceive.  The  truth  is  that 


40  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

I  had  written  the  foregoing  heap  of  nothingness  six  or 
seven  days  ago,  but  I  was  prevented  from  sending  it  by  a 
variety  of  disagreeable  little  impediments. 

Mr.  Massy  must  be  arrived  in  Cambridge  by  this  time ; 
but  to  call  on  an  utter  stranger  just  arrived  with  so  trivial 
a  message  as  yours  and  his  uncle's  love  to  him,  when  I 
myself  had  been  in  Cambridge  five  or  six  weeks,  would 
appear  rather  awkward,  not  to  say  ludicrous.  If,  however, 
I  meet  him  at  any  wine  party  (which  is  by  no  means  im- 
probable) I  shall  take  the  opportunity  of  mentioning  it 
en  passant.  As  to  Mr.  M.'s  debts,  the  most  intimate 
friends  in  college  are  perfect  strangers  to  each  other's' 
affairs  ;  consequently  it  is  little  likely  that  I  should  pro- 
cure any  information  of  this  kind. 

I  hope  and  trust  that  neither  yourself  nor  my  sisters  have 
experienced  any  ill  effects  from  this  wonderful  change  of 
weather.  A  very  slight  cold  is  the  only  favour  with  which 
it  has  honoured  me.  I  feel  myself  apprehensive  for  all  of 
you,  but  more  particularly  for  Anne,  whose  frame  I  think 
most  susceptible  of  cold. 

Yesterday  a  Frenchman  came  dancing  into  my  room, 
of  which  he  made  but  three  steps,  and  presented  me  with 
a  card.  I  had  scarcely  collected,  by  glancing  my  eye  over 
it,  that  he  was  a  tooth-monger,  before  he  seized  hold  of 
my  muzzle,  and,  baring  my  teeth  (as  they  do  a  jjorse's, 
in  order  to  know  his  age),  he  exclaimed,  as  if  in  violent 
agitation  :  "  Mon  Dieu  !  Monsieur,  all  your  teeth  will  fall 
out  in  a  day  or  two,  unless  you  permit  me  the  honour  of 
scaling  them  !  "  This  ineffable  piece  of  assurance  discov- 
ered such  a  genius  for  Jmpudence,  that  I  could  not  suffer 
it  to  go  unFewarded.  So,  after  a  hearty  laugh,  I  sat 
down,  and  let  the  rascal  chouse  me  out  of  half  a  guinea  by 
scraping  my  grinders  —  the  more  readily,  indeed,  as  I 
recollected  the  great  penchant  which  all  your  family  have 
for  delicate  teeth. 


1792]  TO  MAEY  EVANS  41 

So  (I  hear)  Allen 1  will  be  most  precipitately  emanci- 
pated. Good  luck  have  thou  of  thy  emancipation,  Bob- 
bee  !  Tell  him  from  me  that  if  he  does  not  kick  Eichards' 2 
fame  out  of  doors  by  the  superiority  of  his  own,  I  will 
never  forgive  him. 

If  you  will  send  me  a  box  of  Mr.  Stringer's  tooth 
powder,  mamma !  we  will  accept  of  it. 

And  now,  Right  Reverend  Mother  in  God,  let  me  claim 
your  permission  to  subscribe  myself  with  all  observance 
and  gratitude,  your  most  obedient  humble  servant,  and 
lowly  slave, 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE, 

Reverend  in  the  future  tense,  and  scholar  of  Jesus  Col- 
lege in  the  present  time. 

XIV.   TO  MARY  EVANS. 
JESUS  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  February  22  [1792]. 

DEAR  MARY,  —  Writing  long  letters  is  not  the  fault 
into  which  I  am  most  apt  to  fall,  but  whenever  I  do,  by 

1  Robert  Allen,  Coleridge's   ear-  ii.  47,  and  Leigh  Hunt's  Autobiogra- 

liest   friend,  and   almost  his   exact  phy,  1860,  p.  74.     See,  also,  Letters  to 

contemporary     (born     October    18,  Allsop,  1864,  p.  170. 

1772),  was  admitted   to  University  2  George  Richards,   a  contempo- 

College,  Oxford,  as  an  exhibitioner,  rary  of  Stephens,  and,  though  some- 

in  the   spring  of  1792.     He  enter-  what   senior,   of   Middleton,  was   a 

tained  Coleridge  and  his  compagnon  University  prize-man  and  Fellow  of 

de  voyage,  Joseph  Hucks,  on  the  oc-  Oriel.   He  was  "  author,"  says  Lamb, 

casion  of  the  memorable  visit  to  Ox-  "of   the  'Aboriginal   Britons,'   the 

ford  in  June,  1794,  and  introduced  most  spirited  of  Oxford  prize  poems." 

them  to  his  friend,  Robert  Southey  In  after  life  he  made  his  mark  as 

of  Balliol.     He  is  mentioned  in  let-  a  clergyman,  as  Bampton  Lecturer 

ters  of  Lamb  to  Coleridge,  June  10,  (in  1800),  and  as  Vicar  of  St.  Martin- 

1796,  and  October  11, 1802.     In  both  in-the-Fields.      He   was    appointed 

instances  his  name  is  connected  with  Governor    of    Christ's    Hospital    in 

that   of   Stoddart,  and  it  is  proba-  1822,  and  founded  an  annual  prize, 

ble  that  it  was  through  Allen  that  the    "  Richards'    Gold    Medal,' '  for 

Coleridge  and  Stoddart  became  ac-  the  best  copy  of  Latin  hexameters, 

quainted.    For  anecdotes  concerning  Christ's  Hospital.     List   of  Exhibi- 

Allen,  see  Lamb's  Essay,  "Christ's  tioners,from  1566-1885, compiled  by 

Hospital,"  etc.,  Prose  Works,  1836,  A.  M.  Lockhart. 


42 


STUDENT  LIFE 


[APRIL 


some  inexplicable  ill  luck,  my  prolixity  is  always  directed 
to  those  whom  I  would  yet  least  of  all  wish  to  torment. 
You  think,  and  think  rightly,  that  I  had  no  occasion  to 
increase  the  preceding  accumulations  of  wearisomeness, 
but  I  wished  to  inform  you  that  I  have  sent  the  poem,  of 
•>  Bowles,  which  I  mentioned  in  a  former  sheet ;  though  I 
dare  say  you  would  have  discovered  this  without  my  infor- 
mation. If  the  pleasure  which  you  receive  from  the  peru- 
sal of  it  prove  equal  to  that  which  I  have  received,  it  will 
make  you  some  small  return  for  the  exertions  of  friend- 
ship, which  you  must  have  found  necessary  in  order  to 
travel  through  my  long,  long,  long  letter. 

Though  it  may  be  a  little  effrontery  to  point  out  beau- 
ties, which  would  be  obvious  to  a  far  less  sensible  heart 
than  yours,  yet  I  cannot  forbear  the  self-indulgence  of 
remarking  to  you  the  exquisite  description  of  Hope  in  the 
third  page  and  of  Fortitude  in  the  sixth ;  but  the  poem 
s  "  On  leaving  a  place  of  residence  "  appears  to  me  to  be 
almost  superior  to  any  of  Bowles's  compositions. 

I  hope  that  the  Jermyn  Street  ledgers  are  well.  How 
can  they  be  otherwise  in  such  lovely  keeping  ? 

Your  Jessamine  Pomatum,  I  trust,  is  as  strong  and  as 
odorous  as  ever,  and  the  roasted  turkeys  at  Villiers  Street 
honoured,  as  usual,  with  a  thick  crust  of  your  Mille  (what 
do  you  call  it  ?)  powder. 

I  had  a  variety  of  other  interesting  /nquiries  to  make, 
but  time  and  memory  fail  me. 

Without  a  swanskin  waistcoat,  what  is  man  ?   I  have  got 
a  swanskin  waistcoat,  —  a  most  attractive  external. 
Yours  with  sincerity  of  friendship, 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  C. 

XV.   TO   THE   REV.    GEORGE  COLERIDGE. 

Monday  night,  April  [1792]. 

DEAR  BROTHER,  —  You  would  have  heard  from  me 
long  since  had  I  not  been  entangled  in  such  various  busi- 


1792] 


TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE 


43 


nesses  as  have  occupied  my  whole  time.  Besides  my  ordi- 
nary business,  which,  as  I  look  forward  to  a  smart  contest 
some  time  this  year,  is  not  an  indolent  one,  I  have  been 
writing  for  all  the  prizes,  namely,  the  Greek  Ode,  the 
Latin  Ode,  and  the  Epigrams.  I  have  little  or  no  expec- 
tation of  success,  as  a  Mr.  Smith,1  a  man  of  immense  gen- 
ius, author  of  some  papers  in  the  "  Microcosm,"  is  among 
my  numerous  competitors.  The  prize  medals  will  be  ad- 
judged about  the  beginning  of  June.  If  you  can  think  of 
a  good  thought  for  the  beginning  of  the  Latin  Ode  upon 
the  miseries  of  the  W.  India  slaves,  communicate.  My 
Greek  Ode  2  is,  I  think,  my  chef  d'ceuvre  in  poetical  com- 
position. I  have  sent  you  a  sermon  metamorphosed  from 
an  obscure  publication  by  vamping,  transposition,  etc.  If 
you  like  it,  I  can  send  you  two  more  of  the  same  kidney. 
Our  examination  as  Rustats  comes  [off]  on  the  Thursday 


1  Robert    Percy   (Bobus)   Smith, 
1770-1845,  the  younger  brother  of 
Sydney  Smith,  was  Browne  Medalist 
in  1791.     His  Eton  and  Cambridge 
prize  poems,  in  Lucretian  metre,  are 
among  the  most  finished  specimens 
of  modern  Latinity.     The  principal 
contributors  to  the  Microcosm  were 
George  Canning,  John  and   Robert 
Smith,  Hookham  Frere,  and  Charles 
Ellis.     Gentleman'1 s  Magazine,  N.  S., 
xxiii.  440. 

2  For  complete  text  of  the  Greek 
Sapphic  Ode, "  On  the  Slave  Trade," 
which  obtained    the    Browne   gold 
medal  for  1792,  see  Appendix  B,  p. 
476,  to  Coleridge's  Poetical  Works, 
Macmillan,    1893.      See,    also,    Mr. 
Dykes  Campbell's  note  on  the  style 
and  composition  of  the  ode,  p.  653. 
I  possess  a  transcript  of   the  Ode, 
taken,  I  believe,  by  Sara  Coleridge 
in  1823,  on  the  occasion  of  her  visit 
to  Ottery  St.  Mary.     The  following 
note  is  appended :  — 


"  Upon  the  receipt  of  the  above 
poem,  Mr.  George  Coleridge,  being 
vastly  pleased  by  the  composition, 
thinking  it  would  be  a  sort  of  com- 
pliment to  the  superior  genius  of  his 
brother  the  author,  composed  the 
following  lines :  — 

IBI  HMC  INCONDITA  SOLUS. 

Say   Holy    Genius  —  Heaven  -  descended 

Beam, 

Why  interdicted  is  the  sacred  Fire 
That  flows  spontaneous  from  thy  golden 

Lyre? 

Why  Genius  like  the  emaiiative  Ray 
That  issuing  from  the  dazzling  Fount  of 

Light 

Wakes  all  creative  Nature  into  Bay, 
Art  thou  not  all-diffusive,  all  benign  ? 
Thy  partial  hand  I  blarfe.    For  Pity  oft 
In  Supplication's  Vest  —  a  weeping  child 
That  meets  me  pensive  on  the  barren  wild, 
And  pours  into  my  soul  Compassion  soft, 
The  never-dying  strain  commands  to  flow  — 
Man  sure  is  vain,  nor  sacred  Genius  hears, 
Now  speak  in  melody  —  now  weep  in  Tears. 
G.  C." 


44  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

in  Easter  week.  After  it  a  man  of  our  college  has  offered 
to  take  me  to  town  in  his  gig,  and,  if  he  can  bring  me 
back,  I  think  I  shall  accept  his  offer,  as  the  expense,  at  all 
events,  will  not  be  more  than  12  shillings,  and  my  very 
commons,  and  tea,  etc.,  would  amount  to  more  than  that 
in  the  week  which  I  intend  to  stay  in  town.  Almost  all 
the  men  are  out  of  college,  and  I  am  most  villainously 
vapoured.  I  wrote  the  following  the  other  day  under  the 
title  of  "  A  Fragment  found  in  a  Lecture-Room :  "  — 

Where  deep  in  mud  Cam  rolls  his  slumbrous  stream, 
And  bog  and  desolation  reign  supreme ; 
Where  all  Bceotia  clouds  the  misty  brain, 
The  owl  Mathesis  pipes  her  loathsome  strain. 
Far,  far  aloof  the  frighted  Muses  fly, 
Indignant  Genius  scowls  and  passes  by : 
The  frolic  Pleasures  start  amid  their  dance, 
And  Wit  congealed  stands  fix'd  in  wintry  trance. 
But  to  the  sounds  with  duteous  haste  repair 
Cold  Industry,  and  wary-footed  Care ; 
And  Dulness,  dosing  on  a  couch  of  lead, 
Pleas'd  with  the  song  uplifts  her  heavy  head, 
The  sympathetic  numbers  lists  awhile, 
Then  yawns  propitiously  a  frosty  smile.  .  .  . 
[Gaetera  desunt.] 

This  morning  I  went  for  the  first  time  with  a  party  on 
the  river.  The  clumsy  dog  to  whom  we  had  entrusted  the 
sail  was  fool  enough  to  fasten  it.  A  gust  of  wind  em- 
braced the  opportunity  of  turning  over  the  boat,  and  bap- 
tizing all  that  were  in  it.  We  swam  to  shore,  and  walked 
dripping  home,  like  so  many  river  gods.  Thank  God ! 
I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  should  be  the  worse  for  it. 

I  was  matriculated  on  Saturday.1  Oath-taking  is  very 
healthy  in  spring,  I  should  suppose.  I  am  grown  very 
fat.  We  have  two  men  at  our  college,  great  cronies, 

1  He  was  matriculated  as  pen-  been  in  residence  since  September, 
sioner  March  31,  1792.  He  had  1791. 


1793]  TO   MRS.  EVANS  45 

their  names  Head  and  Bones ;  the  first  an  unlicked  cub  of 
a  Yorkshireman,  the  second  a  very  fierce  buck.  I  call 
them  Raw  Head  and  Bloody  Bones. 

As  soon  as  you  can  make  it  convenient  I  should  feel 
thankful  if  you  could  transmit  me  ten  or  five  pounds,  as  I 
am  at  present  cashless. 

Pray,  was  the  bible  clerk's  place  accounted  a  disrep- 
utable one  at  Oxford  in  your  time  ?  Poor  Allen,  who  is 
just  settled  there,  complains  of  the  great  distance  with 
which  the  men  treat  him.  'Tis  a  childish  University! 
Thank  God !  I  am  at  Cambridge.  Pray  let  me  hear  from 
you  soon,  and  whether  your  health  has  held  out  this  long 
campaign.  I  hope,  however,  soon  to  see  you,  till  when 
believe  me,  with  gratitude  and  affection,  yours  ever, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XVI.    TO   MRS.   EVANS. 

February  5,  1793. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  EVANS,  —  This  is  the  third  day  of  my 
resurrection  from  the  cpuch,  or  rather,  the  sofa  of  sick- 
ness. About  a  fortnight  ago,  a  quantity  of  matter  took 
it  into  its  head  to  form  in  my  left  gum,  and  was  attended 
with  such  violent  pain,  inflammation,  and  swelling,  that  it 
threw  me  into  a  fever.  However,  God  be  praised,  my 
gum  has  at  last  been  opened,  a  villainous  tooth  extracted, 
and  all  is  well.  I  am  still  very  weak,  as  well  I  may,  since 
for  seven  days  together  I  was  incapable  of  swallowing 
anything  but  spoon  meat,  so  that  in  point  of  spirits  I  am 
but  the  jjregs  of  my  former  self  —  a  decaying  flame  ago- 
nizing in  the  snuff  of  a  tallow  candle  —  a  kind  of  hobgob- 
lin, clouted  and  bagged  up  in  the  most  contemptible 
^hreds,  rags,  and  yellow  relics  of  threadbare  mortality. 
The  event  of  our  examination1  was  such  as  surpassed 

1  For  the  Craven  Scholarship.  In  portions  of  which  are  printed  in  Gill- 
an  article  contributed  to  the  Gentle-  man's  Life  of  Coleridge,  C.  V.  Le 
man's  Magazine  of  December,  1834,  Grice,  a  co-Grecian  -with  Coleridge 


46  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

my  expectations,  and  perfectly  accorded  with  my  wishes. 
After  a  very  severe  trial  of  six  days'  continuance,  the 
number  of  the  competitors  was  reduced  from  seventeen 
to  four,  and  after  a  further  process  of  c>rdeal  we,  the  sur- 
vivors, were  declared  equal  each  to  tne  other,  and  the 
Scholarship,  according  to  the  will  of  its  founder,  awarded 
to  the  youngest  of  us,  who  was  found  to  be  a  Mr.  Butler 
of  St.  John's  College.  I  am  just  two  months  older  than 
he  is,  and  though  I  would  doubtless  have  rather  had  it 
myself,  I  am  yet  not  at  all  sorry  at  his  success  ;  for  he  is 
sensible  and  unassuming,  and  besides,  from  his  circum- 
stances, such  an  accession  to  his  annual  income  must  have 
been  very  acceptable  to  him.  So  much  for  myself. 

I  am  greatly  rejoiced  at  your  brother's  recovery;  in 
proportion,  indeed,  to  the  anxiety  and  fears  I  felt  on  your 
account  during  his  illness.  I  recollected,  my  most  dear 
Mrs.  Evans,  that  you  are  frequently  troubled  with  a 
strange  forgetfulness  of  yourself,  and/too  apt  to  go  iar 
beyond  your  strength,  if  by  any  means  you  may  alle-  ' 
viate  the  sufferings  of  others.  Ah  !  how  different  from 
the  majority  of  others  whom  we  courteously  dignify  with 
the  name  of  human  —  a  vile  herd,  who  sit  still  in  the 
severest  distresses  of  their  friends,  and  cry  out,  There 
is  a  lion  in  the  way  !  animals,  who  walk  with  leaden 
sandals  in  the  paths  of  charity,  yet  to  gratify  their  own 
inclinations  will  run  a  mile  in  a  breath.  Oh  !  I  do  know 
a  set  of  little,  dirty,  pimping,  petty-fogging,  ambidextrous 
fellows,  who  would  set  your  house  on  fire,  though  it  were 
but  to  roast  an  egg  for  themselves  !  Yet  surely,  consider- 
ing it  were  a  selfish  view,  the  pleasures  that  arise  from 
whispering  peace  to  those  who  are  in  trouble,  and  healing 
the  broken  in  heart,  are  far  superior  to  all  the  unfeeling 
can  enjoy. 

and  Allen,  gives  the  names  of  the  wards  Head  Master  of  Shrewsbury 
four  competitors.  The  successful  and  Bishop  of  Lichfield.  Life  of 
candidate  was  Samuel  Butler,  after-  Coleridge,  1838,  p.  50. 


(Jwt/ 


-  / 


I  have  Enclosed  a  little  work  of  that  great  and  good  man 
Archdeacon  Paley  ;  it  is  entitled  Motives  of  Contentment, 
addressed  to  the  poorer  part  of  our  fellow  men.  The 
twelfth  page  I  particularly  admire,  and  the  twentieth.  The 
reasoning  has  been  of  some  service  to  me,  who  am  of  the 
race  of  the  Grumbletonians.  My  dear  friend  Allen  has  a 
resource  against  most  misfortunes  in  the  natural  gajety  of 
his  temper,  whereas  my  hypochondriac,  gloomy  spirit  amid 
blessings  too  frequently  warbles  out  the  hoarse  gruntings 
of  discontent  !  Nor  have  all  the  lectures  that  Divines  and 
philosophers  have  given  us  for  these  three  thousand  years 
Tpast,  on  the  vanity  of  riches,  and  the  cares  of  greatness, 
etc.,  prevented  me  from  sincerely  regretting  that  Nature 
had  not  put  it  into  the  head  of  some  rich  man  to  beget 
me  for  his  y£rs£-born,  whereas  now  I  am  likely  to  get  bread 
just  when  I  shall  have  no  teeth  left  to  chew  it.  Cheer 
up,  my  little  one  (thus  I  answer  I)  !  better  late  than 
never.  Hath  literature  been  thy  choice,  and  hast  thou 
food  and  raiment  ?  Be  thankful,  be  amazed  at  thy  good 
fortune  !  Art  thou  dissatisfied  and  desirous  of  other 
things  ?  Go,  and  make  twelve  votes  at  an  election  ;  it 
shall  do  thee  more  service  and  procure  thee  greater  pre- 
ferment than  to  have  made  twelve  Commentaries  on  the 
twelve  prophets.  /j  My  dear  Mrs.  Evans  !  excuse  the  wan- 
derings" of  my  castle  building  imagination.  I  have  not  a 
thought  which  I  conceal  from  you.  I  write  to  others,  but  \ 
my  pen  talks  to  you.  Convey  my  softest  affections  to 
Betty,  and  believe  me, 

Your  grateful  and  affectionate  boy, 

S.   T.    COLEKIDGE. 

XVII.    TO   MARY   EVANS. 

JESDS  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  February  7,  1793. 
I  would  to  Heaven,  my  dear  Miss  Evans,  that  the  jjpd  of 
wit,  or  news,  or  politics  would  whisper  in  my  ear  something 
that  might  be  worth  sending  fifty-four  miles  —  but  alas  I  I 


48  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

am  so  closely  blocked  by  an  army  of  misfortunes  that  really 
there  is  no  passage  left  open  for  mirth  or  anything  else. 
Now,  just  to  give  you  a  few  articles  in  the  large  Jnventory 
of  my  calamities.  Imprimis,  a  gloomy,  uncomfortable 
mornings  Item,  my  head  aches.  Item,  the  Dean  has  set 
me  a  swinging  imposition  for  missing  -mornmg  chapel. 
Item,  of  the  two  only  coats  which  I  am  worth  in  the  world, 
both  have  holes  in  the  elbows.  Item,  Mr.  Newton,  our 
mathematical  lecturer,  has  recovered  from  an  illness.  But 
the  story  is  rather  a  laughable  one,  so  I  must  tell  it  you. 
rt/jJ(J  Mr.  Newton  (a/tall,  thin  man  with  a  little,  tiny,  blushing 
•**  face)  is  a  great  ootanist.  Last  Sunday,  as  he  was  stroll- 
ing out  with  a  friend  of  his,  some  curious  plant  suddenly 
caught  his  eye.  He  turned  round  his  head  with  great 
"tJM^/  eagerness  to  call  his  companion  to  a  participation  of /dis- 
covery, and  unfortunately  continuing  to  walk  forward  he 
fell  into  a  pool,  deep,  muddy,  and  full  of  chickweed.  I 
was  lucky  enough  to  meet  him  as  he  was  entering  thejgol- 
lege  gates  on  his  return  (a  sight  I  would  not  have  lost  for 
the  Indies),  his  best  black  clothes  all  green  with  duck- 
weed, he  shivering  and  dripping,  in  short  a  perfect  jnver 
god.  I  went  up  to  him  (you  must  understand  we  hate 
^each  other  most  cordially)  and  sympathized  with  him  in 
<X7  all  the  tenderness  of  condolence.  The  consequence  of  his 
misadventure  was  a  violent  cold  attended  with  fever,  which 
confined  him  to  his  room,  prevented  him  from  giving  lec- 
tures, and  freed  me  from  the  necessity  of  attending  them ; 
but  this  misfortune  I  supported  with  truly  Christian_fpr- 
titude.  However,  I  constantly  asked  after  his  health  with 
"4^4  filial  anxiety,  and  this  morning,  making  my  usual  /inquir- 
ies, I  was  informed,  to  my  infinite  astonishment  and  vexa- 
tion, that  he  was  perfectly  recovered  and  intended  to  give 
lectures  this  very  day ! ! !  Verily,  I  swear  that  six  of  his 
duteous  pupils  —  myself  as  their  general  —  sallied  forth 
to  the  Apothecary's  house  with  affixed  determination  to 
thrash  him  for  having  performed  so  speedy  a  cure,  but, 


1793] 


TO  MARY  EVANS 


49 


luckily  for  himself,  the  rascal  was  not  at  home.  But  here 
comes  my  fiddling  master,  for  (but  this  is  a  secret)  I  am 
learning  to  play  on  the  vjolin.  Twit,  twat,  twat,  twit ! 
"  Pray,  M.  de  la  Penche,  do  you  think  I  shall  ever  make 
anything  of  this  violin  ?  Do  you  think  I  have  an  ear  for 
music?  "  "  Un  magnifique  !  Un  superbe  !  Par  honneur, 
"Sir,  you  be  a  ver  great  genius  in  de  music.  Good  morn- 
ing, monsieur  !  "  This  M.  de  la  Penche  is  a  better  judge 
than  I  thought  for. 

This  new  whim  of  mine  is  partly  a  scheme  of  self- 
defence.  Three  neighbours  have  run  music-mad  lately  — 
two  of  them  fiddle-scrapers,  the  third  a  flute-tooter  —  and 
are  perpetually  annoying  me  with  their  vile  performances, 
compared  with  which  the  gruntings  of  a  whole  herd  of 
sows  would  be  seraphic  melody.  Now  I  hope,  by  fre- 
quently playing  myself,  t<r  render  my  ear  callous^  Be- 
sides, the  evils  of  life  are  crowding  upon  me,  and  music 
is  "the  sweetest  assuager  of  cares."  It  helps  to  relieve 
and  soothe  the  mind,  and  is  a  sort  of  refuge  from  calamity, 
from  slights  and  neglects  and  censures  and  insults  and  dis- 
appointments ;  from  the  warmth  of  real  enemies  and  the 
coldness  of  pretended  friends ;  from  your  well  wishers 
(as  they  are  justly  called,  in  opposition,  I  suppose,  to  well 
doers'),  men  whose  inclinations  to  serve  you  always  de- 
crease in  a  most  mathematical  proportion  as  their  oppor- 
tunities to  do  it  increase ;  from  the 

"  Proud  man's  contumely,  and  the  spurns 
Which  patient  merit  of  th'  unworthy  takes ;  " 

from  grievances  that  are  the  growth  of  all  times  and 
places  and  not  peculiar  to  this  age,  which  authors  call  this 
critical  age,  and  divines  this  sinful  age,  and  politicians 
this  age  of  Devolutions.  An  acquaintance  of  mine  calls 
it  this  learned  age  in  due  reverence  to  his  own  abilities, 
and  like  Monsieur  Whatd'yecallhim,  who  used  to  pull  off 
his  hat  when  he  spoke  of  himself.  The  goet  laureate  calls 
it  "  this  golden  age"  and  with  good  reason,-1- 


50  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

For  him  the  fountains  with  Canary  flow, 
And,  best  of  fruit,  spontaneous  guineas  grow. 

Pope,  in  his  "  Dunciad,"  makes  it  this  leaden  age,  but  I 
choose  to  call  it  without  an  epithet,  this  age.  Many  things 
we  must  expect  to  meet  with  which  it  would  be  hard  to 
bear,  if  a  compensation  were  not  found  in  honest  en- 
deavours to  do  well,  in  virtuous  affections  and  connections, 
and  in  harmless  and  reasonable  amusements.  And  why 
should  not  a  man  amuse  himself  sometimes?  Vive  la 
bagatelle  ! 

I  received  a  letter  this  morning  from  my  friend  Allen. 
He  is  up  to  his  ears  in  business,  and  I  sincerely  congratu- 
late him  upon  it  —  occupation,  I  am  convinced,  being  the 
great  secret  of  happiness.  "  Nothing  makes  the  temper 
so  fretful  as  indolence,"  said  a  young  _lady  who,  beneath 
the  soft  surface  of  feminine  delicacy,  possesses  a  mind  acute 
by  nature,  and  strengthened  by  habits  of  Deflection.  'Pon 
my  word,  Miss  Evans,  I  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand  times 
for  bepraising  you  to  your  face,  but,  really,  I  have  written 
so  long  that  I  had  forgot  to  whom  I  was  writing. 

Have  you  read  Mr.  Fox's  letter  to  the  Westminster 
electors  ?     It  is  quite  the  political  go  at  Cambridge,  and 
converted  many  souls  to  the  Foxite  faith. 

Have  you  seen  the  Siddons  this  season  ?  or  the  Jordan  ? 
An  acquaintance  of  mine  has  a  Jjragedy  coming  out  early 
in  the  next  season,  the  principaPcharacter  of  which  Mrs. 
Siddons  will  act.  He  has  importuned  me  to  write  the  pro- 
logue and  ^pilogue,  but,  conscious  of  my  inability,  I  have 
excused  myself  with  a  jest,  and  told  him  I  was  too  good 
a  Christian  to  be  accessory  to  the  damnation  of  anything 

There  is  an  old  proverb  of  a  river  of  words  and  a  spoon-^ 
ful  of  sense,  and  I  think  this  letter  has  been  a  pretty  good 
proof  of  it.     But  as  nonsense  is  better  than  blank  paper, 
I  will  fill  this  side  with  a  song  I  wrote  lately.     My  friend, 
Charles  Hague  J  the  composer,  will  set  it  to  wild  music. 

1  Musical  glee  composer,  1769-1821.     Biographical  Dictionary. 

n     i       • 

** 


I 
/ 


.^1          *• 


1793]  TO  MARY  EVANS  51 

I  shall  sing  it,  and  accompany  myself  on  the  violin.      £7a 
ira  ! 

Cathloma,  who  reigned  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland 
about  two  hundred  years  after  the  birth  of  our  Saviour, 
was  defeated  and  killed  in  a  war  with  a  neighbouring  g 
prince,  and  Nina-^homa  his  daughter  (according  to  the 
custom  of  those  times  and  that  country)  was  imprisoned 
in  a  cave  by  the  seaside.  This  is  supposed  to  be  her  com- 
plaint :  — 

How  long  will  ye  round  me  be  swelling, 

O  ye  blue-tumbling  waves  of  the  sea  ?  » 

Not  always  in  caves  was  my  dwelling, 
Nor  beneath  the  cold  blast  of  the  Tree ; 

Thro'  the  high  sounding  Hall  of  Cathloma 

In  the  steps  of  my  beauty  I  strayed, 
The  warriors  beheld  Nina^Thoma, 

And  they  blessed  the  dark-tressed  Maid ! 

By  my  Friends,  by  my  Lovers  discarded, 
Like  the  Flower  of  the  Rock  now  I  waste, 

That  lifts  its  fair  head  unregarded, 
And  scatters  its  leaves  on  the  blast. 

A  Ghost !  by  my  cavern  it  darted  ! 

In  moonbeams  the  spirit  was  drest  — 
For  lovely  appear  the  Departed, 

When  they  visit  the  dreams  of  my  rest ! 

But  dispersed  by  the  tempest's  commotion, 

Fleet  the  shadowy  forms  of  Delight ; 
Ah !  cease,  thou  shrill  blast  of  the  Ocean ! 

To  howl  thro'  my  Cavern  by  night.1 

Are  you  asleep,  my  dear  Mary?     I  have  administered 
rather  a  strong  dose  of  opium ;  however,  if  in  the  course 

1  Poetical  Works,  p.  20. 


52  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

of  your  nap  you  should  chance  to  dream  that  I  am,  with 
ardor  of  eternal  friendship,  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE, 
you  will  never  have  dreamt  a  truer  dream  in  all  your/days. 


XVIII.   TO   ANNE   EVANS. 

JESUS  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  February  10,  1793. 
MY  DEAR  ANNE,  —  A  little  before  I  had  received  your 
.mamma's  letter,  a  bird  of  the  air  had  informed  me  of 
your  illness  —  and  sure  never  did  owl  or  night-raven 
("  those  mournful  messengers  of  heavy  things  ")  pipe  a 
more  loathsome  song.  But  I  flatter  myself  that  ere  you 
have  received  this  scrawl  of  mine,  by  care  and  attention 
you  will  have  lured  back  the  rosy-lipped  fugitive,  Health. 
I  know  of  no  misfortune  so  little  susceptible  of  consolation 
as  sickness :  it  is  indeed  easy  to  offer  comfort,  when  we 
ourselves  are  well ;  then  we  can  be  full  of  grave  saws 
upon  the  duty  of  resignation,  etc. ;  but  alas  !  when  the 
sore  visitations  of  pain  come  home,  all  our  philosophy 
vanishes,  and  nothing  remains  to  be  seen.  T  speak  of 
myself,  but  a  mere  sensitive  animal,  with  little  wisdom 
and  no  patience.  Yet  if  anything  can  throw  a  melancholy 
smile  over  the  pale,  wan  face  of  illness,  it  must  be  the 
sight  and  attentions  of  those  we  love.  There  are  one  or 
two  beings,  in  this  planet  of  ours,  whom  God  has  formed 
in  so  kindly  a  mould  that  I  could  almost  consent  to  be  ill 
in  order  to  be  nursed  by  them. 

O  turtle-eyed  affection ! 
If  thou  be  present  —  who  can  be  distrest  ? 
Pain  seems  to  smile,  and  Borrow  is  at  rest : 
No  more  the  j;houghts  in^wUd  repinings  roll, 
And  tender  murmurs  hush  the  soften'd  soul. 

But  I  will  not  proceed  at  this  rate,  for  I  am  writing 
and  thinking  myself  fast  into  the  spleen,  and  feel  very 
obligingly  disposed  to  communicate  the  same  doleful  fit 
to  you,  my  dear  sister.  Yet  permit  me  to  say,  it  is  almost 


1793]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  53 

your  own  fault.  You  were  half  angry  at  my  writing 
laughing  nonsense  to  you,  and  see  what  you  have  got  in 
exchange  —  pale-faced,  solemn,  stiff-starched  stupidity.  I 
must  confess,  indeed,  that  the  latter  is  rather  more  in 
unison  with  my  present  feelings,  which  from  one  untoward 
freak  of  fortune  or  other  are  not  of  the  most  comfortable 
kind.  Within  this  last  month  I  have  lost  a  brother l  and 
a  friend  !  But  I  struggle  for  cheerfulness  —  and  some- 
times, when  the  sun  shines  out,  I  succeed  in  the  effort. 
This  at  least  I  endeavour,  not  to  infect  the  cheerfulness 
of  others,  and  not  to  write  my  vexations  upon  my  fore- 
head. I  read  a  story  lately  of  an  old  Greek  philosopher, 
who  once  harangued  so  movingly  on  the  miseries  of  life, 
that  his  audience  went  home  and  hanged  themselves  ;  but 
he  himself  (my  author  adds)  lived  many  years  afterwards 
in  very  sleek  condition. 

God  love  you,  my  dear  Anne  !  and  receive  as  from  a 
brother  the  warmest  affections  of  your 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XIX.   TO   THE  REV.   GEORGE   COLERIDGE. 

Wednesday  morning,  July  28,  1793. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  I  left  Salisbury  on  Tuesday 
morning  —  should  have  stayed  there  longer,  but  that  Ned, 
ignorant  of  my  coming,  had  preengaged  himself  on  a 
journey  to  Portsmouth  with  Skinner.  I  left  Ned  well  and 
merry,  as  likewise  his  wife,  who,  by  all  the  Cupids,  is  a 
very  worthy  old  lady.2 

Monday  afternoon,  Ned,  Tatum,  and  myself  sat  from 
four  till  ten  drinking !  and  then  arose  as  cool  as  three 
undressed  cucumbers.  Edward  and  I  (O !  the  wonders 

1  Francis  Syndercombe  Coleridge,  Salisbury.     Hia  marriage   with  an 
who  died  shortly  after  the  fall  of  elderly  widow  who  was  supposed  to 
Seringapatam,  February  6,  1792.  have  a  large  income  was  a  source  of 

2  Edward  Coleridge,  the  Vicar  of  perennial  amusement  to  his  family. 
Ottery's  fourth  son,  was  then  assist-  Some  years  after  her  death  he  mar- 
ant  master  in  Dr.  Skinner's  school  at  ried  his  first  cousin,  Anne  Bowdon. 


54  STUDENT  LIFE  [Auo. 

of  this  life)  disputed  with  great  coolness  and  forbearance 
the  whole  time.  We  neither  of  us  were  convinced, 
though  now  and  then  Ned  was  convicted.  Tatum  umpire 
sat, 

And  by  decision  more  embroiled  the  fray. 

I  found  all  well  in  Exeter,  to  which  place  I  proceeded 
directly,  as  my  mother  might  have  been  unprepared  from 
the  supposition  I  meant  to  stay  longer  in  Salisbury.  I 
shall  dine  with  James  to-day  at  brother  Phillips'.1 

My  ideas  are  so  discomposed  by  the  jolting  of  the 
coach  that  I  can  write  no  more  at  present. 

A  piece  of  gallantry ! 

I  presented  a  moss  rose  to  a  lady.  Dick  Hart2  asked 
her  if  she  was  not  afraid  to  put  it  in  her  bosom,  as  per- 
haps there  might  be  love  in  it.  I  immediately  wrote  the 
following  little  ode  or  song  or  what  you  please  to  call  it.3 
It  is  of  the  namby-pamby  genus. 

THE  ROSE. 

As  late  each  flower  that  sweetest  blows 
I  plucked,  the  Garden's  pride  ! 
Within  the  petals  of  a  Rose 
A  sleeping  Love  I  spied. 

Around  his  brows  a  beaming  wreath 
Of  many  a  lucent  hue  ; 
All  purple  glowed  his  cheek  beneath, 
Inebriate  with  dew. 

1  The  husband  of  Coleridge's  half  s  A  note  to  the  Poems  of  Samuel 
sister  Elizabeth,  the  youngest  of  the  Taylor  Coleridge,  Moxon,  1852,  gives 
vicar's  first  family,  "  who  alone  was  a  somewhat  different  version  of  the 
bred  up  with  us  after  my  birth,  and  origin  of  this  poem,  first  printed  in 
who  alone  of  the  three  I  was  wont  to  the  edition  of  1796  as  Effusion  27, 
think  of  as  a  sister."     See  Autobio-  and  of  the  lines  included  in  Letter 
graphical    Notes  of   1832.     Life   of  XX.,  there  headed  "  Cupid  turned 
Coleridge,  1838,  p.  9.  Chymist,"  but  afterwards  known  as 

2  The  brother  of  Mrs.  Luke  and  ' '  Kisses." 
of  Mrs.  George  Coleridge. 


1793]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  55 

I  softly  seized  the  unguarded  Power, 
Nor  scared  Ms  balmy  rest ; 
And  placed  him,  caged  within  the  flower, 
On  Angelina's  breast. 

But  when  unweeting  of  the  guile 
Awoke  the  prisoner  sweet, 
He  struggled  to  escape  awhile 
And  stamped  his  faery  feet. 

Ah  !  soon  the  soul-entrancing  sight 
Subdued  the  impatient  boy  ! 
He  gazed  !  he  thrilled  with  deep  delight ! 
Then  clapped  his  wings  for  joy. 

"  And  O  !  "  he  cried,  "  of  magic  kind 
What  charms  this  Throne  endear  ! 
Some  other  Love  let  Venus  find  — 
I  '11  fix  my  empire  here." 

An  extempore !  Ned  during  the  dispute,  thinking  he 
had  got  me  down,  said,  "  Ah !  Sam !  you  blush  !  "  "  Sir," 
answered  I, 

Ten  thousand  Blushes 
Flutter  round  me  drest  like  little  Loves, 
And  veil  my  visage  with  their  crimson  wings. 

There  is  no  meaning  in  the  lines,  but  we  both  agreed  they 
were  very  pretty.     If  you  see  Mr.  Hussy,  you  will  not 
forget  to  present  my  respects  to  him,  and  to  his  accom- 
plished daughter,  who  certes  is  a  very  sweet  young  lady. 
God  bless  you  and  your  grateful  and  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLEEIDGE. 

XX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

[Postmark,  August  5,  1793.] 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  Since  my  arrival  in  the  country 
I  have  been  anxiously  expecting  a  letter  from  you,  nor 
can  I  divine  the  reason  of  your  silence.  From  the  letter 


56  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

to  my  brother  James,  a  few  lines  of  which  he  read  to  me, 
I  am  fearful  that  your  silence  proceeds  from  displeasure. 
If  so,  what  is  left  for  me  to  do  but  to  grieve  ?  The  past 
is  not  in  my  power.  For  the  follies  of  which  I  may  have 
been  guilty,  I  have  been  greatly  disgusted ;  and  I  trust 
the  memory  of  them  will  operate  to  future  consistency  of 
conduct. 

My  mother  is  very  well,  —  indeed,  better  for  her  illness. 
Her  complexion  and  eye,  the  truest  indications  of  health, 
are  much  clearer.  Little  William  and  his  mother  are 
well.  My  brother  James  is  at  Sidmouth.  I  was  there 
yesterday.  He,  his  wife,  and  children  are  well.  Freder- 
ick is  a  charming  child.  Little  James  had  a  most  provi- 
dential escape  the  day  before  yesterday.  As  my  brother 
was  in  the  field  contiguous  to  his  place  he  heard  two  men 
scream,  and  turning  round  saw  a  horse  leap  over  little 
James,  and  then  kick  at  him.  He  ran  up ;  found  him  un- 
hurt. The  men  said  that  the  horse  was  feeding  with  his 
tail  toward  the  child,  and  looking  round  ran  at  him  open- 
mouthed,  pushed  him  down  and  leaped  over  him,  and  then 
kicked  back  at  him.  Their  screaming,  my  brother  sup- 
poses, prevented  the  horse  from  repeating  the  blow. 
Brother  was  greatly  agitated,  as  you  may  suppose.  I 
stayed  at  Tiverton  about  ten  days,  and  got  no  small  kudos 
among  the  young  belles  by  complimentary  effusions  in  the 
poetic  way. 

A  specimen :  — 

CUPID  TURNED  CHYMIST. 
Cupid,  if  storying  Legends  tell  aright, 
Once  framed  a  rich  Elixir  of  Delight. 
A  chalice  o'er  love-kindled  flames  he  fix'd, 
And  in  it  Nectar  and  Ambrosia  mix'd  : 
With  these  the  magic  dews  which  Evening  brings, 
Brush'd  from  the  Idalian  star  by  faery  wings  : 
Each  tender  pledge  of  sacred  Faith  he  join'd, 
Each  gentler  Pleasure  of  th'  unspotted  mind  — 


1794]  TO  G.  L.  TUCKETT  57 

Day-dreams,  whose  tints  with  sportive  brightness  glow, 

And  Hope,  the  blameless  parasite  of  Woe. 

The  eyeless  Chymist  heard  the  process  rise, 

The  steamy  chalice  bubbled  up  in  sighs ; 

Sweet  sounds  transpired,  as  when  the  enamor'd  dove 

Pours  the  soft  murmuring  of  responsive  Love. 

The  finished  work  might  Envy  vainly  blame, 

And  "  Kisses  "  was  the  precious  Compound's  name. 

With  half  the  God  his  Cyprian  Mother  blest, 

And  breath'd  on  Nesbitt's  lovelier  lips  the  rest. 

Do  you  know  Fanny  Nesbitt  ?  She  was  my  fellow-trav- 
eler in  the  Tiverton  diligence  from  Exeter.  [She  is],  I 
think,  a  very  pretty  girl.  The  orders  for  tea  are :  Impri- 
mis, five  pounds  of  ten  shillings  green ;  Item,  four  pounds 
of  eight  shillings  green ;  in  all  nine  pounds  of  tea. 

God  bless  you  and  your  obliged 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXI.    TO   G.   L.   TUCKETT.1 

HENLEY,  Thursday  night,  February  6  [1794]. 

DEAR  TUCKETT,  —  I  have  this  moment  received  your 
long  letter !  The  Tuesday  before  last,  an  accident  of  the 
Reading  Fair,  our  regiment  was  disposed  of  for  the  week 
in  and  about  the  towns  within  ten  miles  of  Reading,  and, 
as  it  was  not  known  before  we  set  off  to  what  places  we 

1  G.  L.  Tuckett,  to  whom  this  let-  ary,  1796,  there  is  an  amusing  refer- 
ter  was  addressed,  was  the  first  to  ence  to  this  kindly  Deus  ex  Machina. 
disclose  to  Coleridge's  family  the  un-  "  I  called  upon  Tuckett,  who  thus 
welcome  fact  that  he  had  enlisted  in  prophesied :  '  You  know  how  subject 
the  army.  He  seems  to  have  guessed  Coleridge  is  to  fits  of  idleness.  Now, 
that  the  runaway  would  take  his  old  I  '11  lay  any  wager,  Allen,  that  after 
schoolfellows  into  his  confidence,  and  three  or  four  numbers  (of  the  Watch- 
that  they  might  be  induced  to  reveal  man)  the  sheets  will  contain  nothing 
the  secret.  He  was,  I  presume,  a  but  parliamentary  debates,  and 
college  acquaintance,  —  possibly  an  Coleridge  will  add  a  note  at  the  hot- 
old  Blue,  who  had  left  the  Univer-  torn  of  the  page  :  "  I  should  think 
sity  and  was  reading  for  the  bar.  myself  deficient  in  my  duty  to  the 
In  an  unpublished  letter  from  Rob-  Public  if  I  did  not  give  these  inter- 
ert  Allen  to  Coleridge,  dated  Febru-  esting  debates  at  full  length." ' " 


58  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

would  go,  my  letters  were  kept  at  the  Reading  post-office 
till  our  return.  I  was  conveyed  to  Henley-upon-Thames, 
which  place  our  regiment  left  last  Tuesday ;  but  I  am 
ordered  to  remain  on  account  of  these  dreadfully  trouble- 
some eruptions,  and  that  I  might  nurse  my  comrade,  who 
last  Friday  sickened  of  the  confluent  smallpox.  So  here 
I  am,  videlicet  the  Henley  workhouse.1  It  is  a  little  house 
of  one  apartment  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  large  garden, 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  house.  It  is  four  strides 
in  length  and  three  in  .breadth ;  has  four  windows,  which 
look  to  all  the  winds.  The  almost  jtotal  want  of  sleep,  the 
putrid  smell,  and  the  fatiguing  struggles ,  with  my  poor 
comrade  during  his  delirium  are  nearly  too  much  for  me 
in  my  present  state.  In  return  I  enjoy  external  peace, 
and  kind  and  respectful  behaviour  from  the  people  of  the 
workhouse.  Tuckett,  your  motives  must  have  been  excei- 
lent  ones;  how  could  they  be  otherwise*'  As  an  agent, 
therefore,  you  are  blameless,  but  your  efforts  in  my  behalf 
demand  my  gratitude  —  that  my  heart  will  pay  you,  into 
whatever  depth  of  horror  your  mistaken  activity  may 
eventually  have  precipitated  me.  As  an  agent,  you  stand 
acquitted,  but  the  action  was  morally  base.  In  an  hour  of 
extreme  anguish,  under  the  most  solemn  imposition  of 
secrecy,  I  entrusted  my  place  and  residence  to  the  young 
men  at  Christ's  Hospital ;  the  intelligence  which  you  ex- 
torted from  their  imbecility  should  have  remained  sacred 
with  you.  It  lost  not  the  obligation  of  secrecy  by  the 
transfer.  But  your  motives  justify  you  ?  To  the  eye  of 
your  friendship  the  divulging  might  have  appeared  neces- 
sary, but  what  shadow  of  necessity  is  there  to  excuse  you  in 
showing  my  letters  —  to  stab  the  very  heart  of  confidence. 

1  It  would  seem  that  there  were  sence,  the  "  Domus  quadrata  horten- 

alleviations  to  the  misery  and  dis-  sis,  atHenley-on-Thames,"and  "  the 

comfort  of  this  direful  experience,  beautiful  girl "  who,  it  would  seem, 

In  a  MS.  note  dated  January,  1805,  soothed  the  captivity  of  the  forlorn 

he  recalls  as  a  suitable  incident  for  trooper. 
a  projected  work,  The  Soother  in  Ab- 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  59 

You  have  acted,  Tuckett,  so  uniformly  well  that  reproof 
must  be  new  to  you.  I  doubtless  shall  have  offended  you. 
I  would  to  God  that  I,  too,  possessed  the  tender  irritable- 
ness  of  unhandled  sensibility.  Mine  is  a  sensibility  gan- 
grened with  inward  corruption  and  the  keen  searching  of 
the  air  from  without.  Your  gossip  with  the  commanding 
officer  seems  so  totally  useless  and  unmotived  that  I  al- 
most find  a  difficulty  in  believing  it. 

A  letter  from  my  brother  George !  I  feel  a  kind  of 
pleasure  that  it  is  not  directed  —  it  lies  unopened  —  am  I 
not  already  sufficiently  miserable?  The  anguish  of  those 
who  love  me,  of  him  beneath  the  shadow  of  whose  protec- 
tion I  grew  up  —  does  it  not  plant  the  pillow  with  thorns 
and  make  my  dreams  full  of  terrors  ?  Yet  I  dare  not  burn 
the  letter  —  it  seems  as  if  there  were  a  horror  in  the  ac- 
tion. One  pang,  however  acute,  is  better  than  long-con- 
tinued solicitude.  My  brother  George  possessed  the  cheer- 
ing consolation  of  conscience  —  but  I  am  talking  I  know 
not  what  —  yet  there  is  a  pleasure,  doubtless  an  exquisite  \ 
pleasure,  mingled  up  in  the  most  painful  of  our  virtuous  i 
emotions.  Alas  !  my  poor  mother !  What  an  intolerable 
weight  of  guilt  is  suspended  over  my  head  by  a  hair  on 
one  hand ;  and  if  I  endure  to  live  —  the  look  ever  down- 
ward —  insult,  pity,  hell !  God  or  Chaos,  preserve  me ! 
What  but  infinite  Wisdom  or  infinite  Confusion  can  do 
it? 

XXII.    TO   THE   REV.   GEORGE   COLERIDGE. 

February  8,  1794. 

My  more  than  brother !  What  shall  I  say  ?  What 
shall  I  write  to  you  ?  Shall  I  profess  an  abhorrence  of  my 
past  conduct  ?  Ah  me !  too  well  do  I  know  its  iniquity ! 
But  to  abhor!  this  feeble  and  exhausted  heart  supplies 
not  so  strong  an  emotion.  O  my  wayward  soul !  I  have 
been  a  fool  even  to  madness.  What  shall  I  dare  to  prom- 
ise ?  My  mind  is  illegible  to  myself.  I  am  lost  in  the 


60  STUDENT  LIFE  [FEB. 

labyrinth,  the  trackless  wilderness  of  my  own  bosom. 
Truly  may  I  say,  "I  am  wearied  of  being  saved."  My 
frame  is  chill  and  torpid.  The  ebb  and  flow  of  my  hopes 
and  fears  has  stagnated  into  recklessness.  One  wish  only 
can  I  read  distinctly  in  my  heart,  that  it  were  possible  for 
me  to  be  forgotten  as  though  I  had  never  been !  The 
shame  and  sorrow  of  those  who  loved  me !  The  anguish 
of  him  who  protected  me  from  my  childhood  upwards,  the 
sore  travail  of  her  who  bore  me !  Intolerable  images  of 
horror  !  They  haunt  my  sleep,  they  enfever  my  dreams  ! 

0  that  the  shadow  of  Death  were  on  my  eyelids,  that  I 
were  like  the  loathsome  form  by  which  I  now  sit !    O  that 
without  guilt  I  might  ask  of  my  Maker  annihilation !   My 
brother,  my  brother  !  pray  for  me,  comfort  me,  my  brother ! 

1  am  very  wretched,  and,  though  my  complaint  be  bitter, 
my  stroke  is  heavier  than  my  groaning. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXIII.   TO   THE   SAME. 

Tuesday  night,  February  11,  1794. 

I  am  indeed  oppressed,  oppressed  with  the  greatness  of 
your  love !  Mine  eyes  gush  out  with  tears,  my  heart  is 
sick  and  languid  with  the  weight  of  unmerited  kindness. 
I  had  intended  to  have  given  you  a  minute  history  of  my 
thoughts  and  actions  for  the  last  two  years  of  my  life.  A 
most  severe  and  faithful  history  of  the  heart  would  it 
have  been  —  the  Omniscient  knows  it.  But  I  am  so  uni- 
versally unwell,  and  the  hour  so  late,  that  I  must  defer  it 
till  to-morrow.  To-night  I  shall  have  a  bed  in  a  separate 
room  from  my  comrade,  and,  I  trust,  shall  have  repaired 
v  my  strength  by  sleep  ere  the  morning.  For  eight  days 
and  nights  I  have  not  had  my  clothes  off.  My  comrade 
is  not  dead ;  there  is  every  hope  of  his  escaping  death. 
Closely  has  he  been  pursued  by  the  mighty  hunter !  Un- 
doubtedly, my  brother,  I  could  wish  to  return  to  College ; 
I  know  what  I  must  suffer  there,  but  deeply  do  I  feel 


1794]  TO  JAMES  COLERIDGE  61 

what  I  ought  to  suffer.  Is  my  brother  James  still  at 
Salisbury  ?  I  will  write  to  him,  to  all. 

Concerning  my  emancipation,  it  appears  to  me  that  my 
discharge  can  be  easily  procured  by  interest,  with  great 
difficulty  by  negotiation  ;  but  of  this  is  not  my  brother 
James  a  more  competent  judge  ? 

What  my  future  life  may  produce  I  dare  not  anticipate. 
Pray  for  me,  my  brother.  I  will  pray  nightly  to  the 
Almighty  dispenser  of  good  and  evil,  that  his  chastise- 
ment may  not  have  harrowed  my  heart  in  vain.  Scepti- 
cism has  mildewed  my  hope  in  the  Saviour.  I  was  far 
from  disbelieving  the  truth  of  revealed  religion,  but  still 
far  from  a  steady  faith  —  the  "  Comforter  that  should 
have  relieved  my  soul  "  was  far  from  me. 

Farewell!  to-morrow  I  will  resume  my  pen.  Mr. 
Boyer  !  indeed,  indeed,  my  heart  thanks  him ;  how  often 
in  the  petulance  of  satire,  how  ungratefully  have  I  injured 
that  man ! 

S.  T.  COLEKIDGE. 

XXIV.   TO  CAPTAIN   JAMES   COLERIDGE. 

February  20,  1794. 

In  a  mind  which  vice  has  not  utterly  divested  of  sensi- 
bility, few  occurrences  can  inflict  a  more  acute  pang  than 
the  receiving  proofs  of  tenderness  and  love  where  only  re- 
sentment and  reproach  were  expected  and  deserved.  The 
gentle  voice  of  conscience  which  had  incessantly  murmured 
within  the  soul  then  raises  its  tone  and  speaks  with  a 
tongue  of  thunder.  My  conduct  towards  you,  and  towards 
my  other  brothers,  has  displayed  a  strange  combination 
of  madness,  ingratitude,  and  dishonesty.  But  you  forgive 
me.  May  my  Maker  forgive  me  !  May  the  time  arrive 
when  I  shall  have  forgiven  myself ! 

With  regard  to  my  emancipation,  every  inquiry  I  have 
made,  every  piece  of  intelligence  I  could  collect,  alike 
tend  to  assure  me  that  it  may  be  done  by  interest,  but 


62  STUDENT  LIFE  [MARCH 

not  by  negotiation  'without  an  expense  which  I  should 
tremble  to  write.  Forty  guineas  were  offered  for  a  dis- 
charge the  day  after  a  young  man  was  sworn  in,  and  were 
refused.  His  friends  made  interest,  and  his  discharge 
came  down  from  the  War  Office.  If,  however,  negotiation 
must  be  first  attempted,  it  will  be  expedient  to  write  to 
our  colonel  —  his  name  is  Gwynne  —  he  holds  the  rank 
of  general  in  the  army.  His  address  is  General  Gwynne, 
K.  L.  D.,  King's  Mews,  London. 

My  assumed  name  is  Silas  Tomkyn  Comberbacke, 
15th,  or  King's  Regiment  of  Light  Dragoons,  G  Troop. 
My  number  I  do  not  know.  It  is  of  no  import.  The 
bounty  I  received  was  six  guineas  and  a  half ;  but  a  light 
horseman's  bounty  is  a  mere  lure ;  it  is  expended  for  him 
in  things  which  he  must  have  had  without  a  bounty  — 
gaiters,  a  pair  of  leather  breeches,  stable  jacket,  and  shell ; 
horse  cloth,  surcingle,  watering  bridle,  brushes,  and  the 
long  etc.  of  military  accoutrement.  I  enlisted  the  2d  of 
December,  1793,  was  attested  and  sworn  the  4th.  I  am  at 
present  nurse  to  a  sick  man,  and  shall,  I  believe,  stay  at 
Henley  another  week.  There  will  be  a  large  draught 
from  our  regiment  to  complete  our  troops  abroad.  The 
men  were  picked  out  to-day.  I  suppose  I  am  not  one, 
being  a  very  indocile  equestrian.  Farewell. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Our  regiment  is  at  Reading,  and  Hounslow,  and  Maid- 
enhead, and  Kensington ;  our  headquarters,  Reading, 
Berks.  The  commanding  officer  there,  Lieutenant  Hop- 
kinson,  our  adjutant. 

To  CAPTAIN  JAMES  COLERIDGE,  Tiverton,  Devonshire. 

XXV.    TO    THE   REV.    GEORGE   COLERIDGE. 

THE  COMPASSES,  HIGH  WYCOMBE,  March  12,  1794. 
MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  Accept  my  poor  thanks  for  the 
day's  enclosed,  which  I  received  safely.     I  explained  the 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  63 

whole  matter  to  the  adjutant,  who  laughed  and  said  I 
had  been  used  scurvily  ;  he  deferred  settling  the  bill  till 
Thursday  morning.  A  Captain  Ogle,1  of  our  regiment, 
who  is  returned  from  abroad,  has  taken  great  notice  of 
me.  When  he  visits  the  stables  at  night  he  always  enters 
into  conversation  with  me,  and  to-day,  finding  from  the 
corporal's  report  that  I  was  unwell,  he  sent  me  a  couple  of 
bottles  of  wine.  These  things  demand  my  gratitude.  I 
wrote  last  week  —  currente  calamo — a  declamation  for 
my  friend  Allen  on  the  comparative  good  and  evil  of 
novels.  The  credit  which  he  got  for  it  I  should  almost 
blush  to  tell  you.  All  the  fellows  have  got  copies,  and 
they  meditate  having  it  printed,  and  dispersing  it  through 
the  University.  The  best  part  of  it  I  built  on  a  sentence 
in  a  last  letter  of  yours,  and  indeed,  I  wrote  most  part  of 
it  feelingly. 

I  met  yesterday,  smoking  in  the  recess,  a  chimney 
corner  of  the  pot-house  2  at  which  I  am  quartered,  a  man 
of  the  greatest  information  and  most  original  genius  I 
ever  lit  upon.  His  philosophical  theories  of  heaven  and 
hell  would  have  both  amused  you  and  given  you  hints  for 
much  speculation.  He  solemnly  assured  me  that  he  be- 
lieved himself  divinely  inspired.  He  slept  in  the  same 
room  with  me,  and  kept  me  awake  till  three  in  the  morn- 
ing with  his  ontological  disquisitions.  Some  of  the  ideas 

l  In  the  various  and  varying  rem-  he  was  not,  as  the  poet  Bowles  and 
iniscences  of  his  soldier  days,  which  Miss  Mitford  maintained,  the  sole 
fell  "  from  Coleridge's  own  mouth,"  instrument  in  procuring  the  dis- 
and  were  repeated  by  his  delighted  charge.  He  may  have  exerted  him- 
and  credulous  hearers,  this  officer  self  privately,  but  his  name  does  not 
plays  an  important  part.  Whatever  occur  in  the  formal  correspondence 
foundation  of  fact  there  may  be  which  passed  between  Coleridge's 
for  the  touching  anecdote  that  the  brothers  and  the  military  author- 
Latin  sentence,  "  Eheu  !  quam  infor-  ities. 

tunii  miserrimum  est  fuissefelicem"  2  The      Compasses,      now     The 

scribbled  on  the  walls  of  the  stable  Chequers,   High    Wycombe,   where 

at  Reading,  caught  the  attention  of  Coleridge  was  billeted  just  a  hun- 

Captain  Ogle,  "  himself  a  scholar,"  dred  years  ago,  appears  to  have  pre- 

and  led  to  Comberbacke's  detection,  served  its  original  aspect. 


64  STUDENT  LIFE  [MARCH 

would  have  made  .you  shudder  from  their  daring  impiety, 
others  would  have  astounded  with  their  sublimity.  My 
memory,  tenacious  and  systematizing,  would  enable  [me] 
to  write  an  octavo  from  his  conversation.  "  I  find  [says 
he]  from  the  intellectual  atmosphere  that  emanes  from, 
and  envelops  you,  that  you  are  in  a  state  of  recipiency.'! 
He  was  deceived.  I  have  little  faith,  yet  am  wonderfully 
fond  of  speculating  on  mystical  schemes.  Wisdom  may 
be  gathered  from  the  maddest  flights  of  imagination,  as 
medicines  were  stumbled  upon  in  the  wild  processes  of 
alchemy.  God  bless  you.  Your  ever  grateful 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Tuesday  evening.  —  I  leave  this  place  [High  Wy- 
combe]  on  Thursday,  10  o'clock,  for  Reading.  A  letter 
will  arrive  in  time  before  I  go. 

XXVI.   TO   THE   SAME. 

Sunday  night,  March  21,  1794. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  feel  what  I  ought  to  feel.  Affili- 
ated to  you  from  my  childhood,  what  must  be  my  present 
situation?  But  I  know  you,  my  dear  brother;  and  I 
entertain  a  humble  confidence  that  my  efforts  in  well- 
doing shall  in  some  measure  repay  you.  There  is  a  vis 
inertice  in  the  human  mind  —  I  am  convinced  that  a  man 
once  corrupted  will  ever  remain  so,  unless  some  sudden 
revolution,  some  unexpected  change  of  place  or  station, 
shall  have  utterly  altered  his  connection.  When  these 
shocks  of  adversity  have  electrified  his  moral  frame,  he 
feels  a  convalescence  of  soul,  and  becomes  like  a  being 
recently  formed  from  the  hands  of  nature. 

The  last  letter  I  received  from  you  at  High  Wycombe 

was  that  almost  blank  letter  which  enclosed  the  guinea. 

I  have  written  to  the  postmaster.     I  have  breeches  and 

waistcoats  at  Cambridge,  three  or  four  shirts,  and  some 

"  neckcloths,  and  a  few  pairs  of  stockings  ;    the   clothes, 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  65 

which,  rather  from  the  order  of  the  regiment  than  the 
impulse  of  my  necessities,  I  parted  with  in  Reading  on 
my  first  arrival  at  the  regiment,  I  disposed  of  for  a  mere 
trifle,  comparatively,  and  at  a  small  expense  can  recover 
them  all  but  my  coat  and  hat.  They  are  gone  irrevo- 
cably. My  shirts,  which  I  have  with  me,  are,  all  but  one, 
worn  to  rags  —  mere  rags ;  their  texture  was  ill-adapted 
to  the  labour  of  the  stables. 

Shall  I  confess  to  you  my  weakness,  my  more  than 
brother?  I  am  afraid  to  meet  you.  When  I  call  to 
mind  the  toil  and  wearisomeness  of  your  avocations,  and 
think  how  you  sacrifice  your  amusements  and  your 
health ;  when  I  recollect  your  habitual  and  self -forgetting 
economy,  how  generously  severe,  my  soul  sickens  at  its 
own  guilt.  A  thousand  reflections  crowd  in  my  mind ; 
they  are  almost  too  much  for  me.  Yet  you,  my  brother, 
would  comfort  me,  not  reproach  me,  and  extend  the  hand 
of  forgiveness  to  one  whose  purposes  were  virtuous, 
though  infirm,  and  whose  energies  vigorous,  though  desul- 
tory. Indeed,  I  long  to  see  you,  although  I  cannot  help 
dreading  it. 

I  mean  to  write  to  Dr.  Pearce.  The  letter  I  will  enclose 
to  you.  Perhaps  it  may  not  be  proper  to  write,  perhaps  it 
may  be  necessary.  You  will  best  judge.  The  discharge 
should,  I  think,  be  sent  down  to  the  adjutant  —  yet  I 
don't  know ;  it  would  be  more  comfortable  to  me  to 
receive  my  dismission  in  London,  were  it  not  for  the 
appearing  in  these  clothes. 

By  to-morrow  I  shall  be  enabled  to  tell  the  exact  ex- 
penses of  equipping,  etc. 

I  must  conclude  abruptly.  God  bless  you,  and  your 
ever  grateful 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


66  STUDENT  LIFE  [MARCH 

XXVII.   TO  THE  SAME. 

End  of  March,  1794. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  I  have  been  rather  uneasy,  that 
I  have  not  heard  from  you  since  my  departure  from  High 
Wycombe.  Your  letters  are  a  comfort  to  me  in  the 
comfortless  hour  —  they  are  manna  in  the  wilderness. 
I  should  have  written  you  long  ere  this,  but  in  truth  I 
have  been  blockaded  by  a  whole  army  of  petty  vexations, 
bad  quarters,  etc.,  and  within  this  week  I  have  been  thrown 
three  times  from  my  horse  and  run  away  with  to  the  no 
small  perturbation  of  my  nervous  system  almost  every  day. 
I  ride  a  horse,  young,  and  as  undisciplined  as  myself. 
After  tumult  and  agitation  of  any  kind  the  mind  and  all 
its  affections  seem  to  doze  for  a  while,  and  we  sit  shiver- 
ing with  chilly  feverishness  wrapped  up  in  the  ragged  and 
threadbare  cloak  of  mere  animal  enjoyment. 

On  Sunday  last  I  was  surprised,  or  rather  confounded, 
with  a  visit  from  Mr.  Cornish,  so  confounded  that  for 
more  than  a  minute  I  could  not  speak  to  him.  He  be- 
haved with  great  delicacy  and  much  apparent  solicitude 
of  friendship.  He  passed  through  Reading  with  his  sister 
Lady  Shore.  I  have  received  several  letters  from  my 
friends  at  Cambridge,  of  most  soothing  contents.  They 
write  me,  that  with  "  undiminished  esteem  and  increased 
affection,  the  Jesuites  look  forward  to  my  return  as  to 
that  of  a  lost  brother !  " 

My  present  address  is  the  White  Hart,  Reading,  Berks. 

Adieu,  most  dear  brother ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXVIII.   TO  THE  SAME. 

March  27,  1794. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  I  find  that  I  was  too  sanguine 
in  my  expectations  of  recovering  all  my  clothes.  My  coat, 
which  I  had  supposed  gone,  and  all  the  stockings,  viz., 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  67 

four  pairs  of  almost  new  silk  stockings,  and  two  pairs  of 
new  silk  and  cotton,  I  can  get  again  for  twenty-three  shil- 
lings. I  have  ordered,  therefore,  a  pair  of  breeches,  which 
will  be  nineteen  shillings,  a  waistcoat  at  twelve  shillings, 
a  pair  of  shoes  at  seven  shillings  and  four  pence.  Besides 
these  I  must  have  a  hat,  which  will  be  eighteen  shillings, 
and  two  neckcloths,  which  will  be  five  or  six  shillings. 
These  things  I  have  ordered.  My  travelling  expenses  will 
be  about  half  a  guinea.  Have  I  done  wrong  in  ordering 
these  things  ?  Or  did  you  mean  me  to  do  it  by  desiring  me 
to  arrange  what  was  necessary  for  my  personal  appear- 
ance at  Cambridge  ?  I  have  so  seldom  acted  right,  that 
in  every  step  I  take  of  my  own  accord  I  tremble  lest  I 
should  be  wrong.  I  forgot  in  the  above  account  to  men- 
tion a  flannel  waistcoat ;  it  will  be  six  shillings.  The 
military  dress  is  almost  oppressively  warm,  and  so  very  ill 
as  I  am  at  present  I  think  it  imprudent  to  hazard  cold. 
I  will  see  you  at  London,  or  rather  at  Hackney.  There 
will  be  two  or  three  trifling  expenses  on  my  leaving  the 
army ;  I  know  not  their  exact  amount.  The  adjutant  dis- 
missed me  from  all  duty  yesterday.  My  head  throbs  so, 
and  I  am  so  sick  at  stomach  that  it  is  with  difficulty  I  can 
write.  One  thing  more  I  wished  to  mention.  There  are 
three  books,  which  I  parted  with  at  Reading.  The  book- 
seller, whom  I  have  occasionally  obliged  by  composing 
advertisements  for  his  newspaper,  has  offered  them  me  at 
the  same  price  he  bought  them.  They  are  a  very  valuable 
edition  of  Casimir I  by  Barbou,2  a  Synesius  3  by  Canterus 

1  See  Notes  to  Poetical  Works  of  "  In  the  course  of  the  Work  will 

Coleridge  (1893),  p.  568.     The  "  in-  be    introduced   a   copious   selection 

tended  translation  "  was  advertised  from  the  Lyrics  of  Casimir,  and  a 

in   the    Cambridge   Intelligencer  for  new  Translation  of  the  Basia  of  Se- 

June  14  and  June  16,  1794  :    "  Pro-  cundus." 

posals  for  publishing  by   subscrip-  One  ode,  "  Ad  Lyram,"  was  print- 

tion    Imitations  from    the    Modern  ed  in  The  Watchman,  No.  11,  March 

Latin  Poets,  with  a  Critical  and  Bi-  9,  1796,  p.  49. 

ographical  Essay  on  the  Bestoration  2  The  Barbou  Casimir,  published 

of  Literature.     By  S.  T.  Coleridge,  at  Paris  in  1759. 

of  Jesus  College,  Cambridge.  ...  8  Compare   the   note    to    chapter 


68  STUDENT  LIFE  [APRIL 

and  Bentley's  Quarto  Edition.  They  are  worth  thirty 
shillings,  at  least,  and  I  sold  them  for  fourteen.  The  two 
first  I  mean  to  translate.  I  have  finished  two  or  three 
Odes  of  Casimir,  and  shall  on  my  return  to  College  send 
them  to  Dodsley  as  a  specimen  of  an  intended  translation. 
Barbou's  edition  is  the  only  one  that  contains  all  the 
works  of  Casimir.  God  bless  you.  Your  grateful 

S.  T.  C. 

XXIX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

Sunday  night,  March  30,  1794. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  I  received  your  enclosed.  I  am 
fearful,  that  as  you  advise  me  to  go  immediately  to  Cam- 
bridge after  my  discharge,  that  the  utmost  contrivances 
of  economy  will  not  enable  [me]  to  make  it  adequate  to 
all  the  expenses  of  my  clothes  and  travelling.  I  shall  go 
across  the  country  on  many  accounts.  The  expense  (I 
have  examined)  will  be  as  nearly  equal  as  well  can  be. 
The  fare,  from  Heading  to  High  Wycombe  on  the  outside 
is  four  shillings,  from  High  Wycombe  to  Cambridge  (for 
there  is  a  coach  that  passes  through  Cambridge  from  Wy- 
combe) I  suppose  about  twelve  shillings,  perhaps  a  trifle 
more.  I  shall  be  two  days  and  a  half  on  the  road,  two 
nights.  Can  I  calculate  the  expense  at  less  than  half  a 
guinea,  including  all  things  ?  An  additional  guinea  would 
perhaps  be  sufficient.  Surely,  my  brother,  I  am  not  so 
utterly  abandoned  as  not  to  feel  the  meaning  and  duty  of 
economy.  Oh  me  !  I  wish  to  God  I  were  happy ;  but  it 
would  be  strange  indeed  if  I  were  so. 

I  long  ago  theoretically  and  in  a  less  degree  experi- 
mentally knew  the  necessity  of  faith  in  order  to  regulate 

xii.    of    the   Biographia  Literaria :  before    my    fifteenth  year."      The 

"  In  the  Biographical  Sketch  of  my  edition   referred    to    may    be  that 

Literary  Life  I  may  be  excused  if  published  at  Basle  in  1567.     Inter- 

I  mention  here  that  I  had  translated  prete   G.  Cantero.     Bentley's  Quarto 

the  eight  Hymns  of  Synesius  from  Edition    -was    probably  the    Quarto 

the  Greek  into  English  Anacreontics  Edition  of  Horace,  published  in  1711. 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  69 

virtue,  nor  did  I  even  seriously  disbelieve  the  existence  of 
a  future  state.  In  short,  my  religious  creed  bore  and, 
perhaps,  bears  a  correspondence  with  my  mind  and  heart. 
I  had  too  much  vanity  to  be  altogether  a  Christian,  too 
much  tenderness  of  nature  to  be  utterly  an  infidel.  Fond 
of  the  dazzle  of  wit,  fond  of  subtlety  of  argument,  I  could 
not  read  without  some  degree  of  pleasure  the  levities  of 
Voltaire  or  the  reasonings  of  Helvetius ;  but,  tremblingly 
alive  to  the  feelings  of  humanity,  and  susceptible  to  the 
charms  of  truth,  my  heart  forced  me  to  admire  the  "  beauty 
of  holiness  "  in  the  Gospel,  forced  me  to  love  the  Jesus, 
whom  my  reason  (or  perhaps  my  reasonings)  would  not 
permit  me  to  worship,  —  my  faith,  therefore,  was  made  up 
of  the  Evangelists  and  the  deistic  philosophy  —  a  kind  of 
religious  twilight.  I  said,  "perhaps  bears"  —  yes!  my 
brother,  for  who  can  say,  "  Now  I  '11  be  a  Christian  "  ? 
Faith  is  neither  altogether  voluntary ;  we  cannot  believe 
what  we  choose,  but  we  can  certainly  cultivate  such  habits 
of  thinking  and  acting  as  will  give  force  and  effective 
energy  to  the  arguments  on  either  side. 

If  I  receive  my  discharge  by  Thursday,  I  will  be,  God 
pleased,  in  Cambridge  on  Sunday.  Farewell,  my  brother ! 
Believe  me  your  severities  only  wound  me  as  they  awake 
the  voice  within  to  speak,  ah  !  how  more  harshly  !  I  feel 
gratitude  and  love  towards  you,  even  when  I  shrink  and 
shiver.  Your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

April  7,  1794. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  The  last  three  days  I  have 
spent  at  Bray,  near  Maidenhead,  at  the  house  of  a  gen- 
tleman who  has  behaved  with  particular  attention  to  me. 
I  accepted  his  invitation  as  it  was  in  my  power  in  some 
measure  to  repay  his  kindness  by  the  revisal  of  a  per- 
formance he  is  about  to  publish,  and  by  writing  him  a 


70  STUDENT  LIFE  [MAY 

dedication  and  preface.  At  my  return  I  found  two  let- 
ters from  you,  the  one  containing  the  two  guineas,  which 
will  be  perfectly  adequate  to  my  expenses,  and,  my  brother, 
what  some  part  of  your  letter  made  me  feel,  I  am  ill  able 
to  express ;  but  of  this  at  another  time.  I  have  signed 
the  certificate  of  my  expenses,  but  not  my  discharge. 
The  moment  I  receive  it  I  shall  set  off  for  Cambridge  im- 
mediately, most  probably  through  London,  as  the  gentle- 
man, whose  house  I  was  at  at  Bray,  has  pressed  me  to  take 
his  horse,  and  accompany  him  on  Wednesday  morning,  as 
he  himself  intends  to  ride  to  town  that  day.  If  my  dis- 
charge comes  down  on  Tuesday  morning  I  shall  embrace 
his  offer,  particularly  as  I  shall  be  introduced  to  his  book- 
seller, a  thing  of  some  consequence  to  my  present  views. 

Clagget1has  set  four  songs  of  mine  most  divinely,  for 
two  violins  and  a  pianoforte.  I  have  done  him  some  ser- 
vices, and  he  wishes  me  to  write  a  serious  opera,  which  he 
will  set,  and  have  introduced.  It  is  to  be  a  joint  work.  I 
think  of  it.  The  rules  for  adaptable  composition  which 
he  has  given  me  are  excellent,  and  I  feel  my  powers 
greatly  strengthened,  owing,  I  believe,  to  my  having  read 
little  or  nothing  for  these  last  four  months. 

XXXI.      TO   THE   SAME. 

May  1,  1794. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  I  have  been  convened  before  the 
fellows.2  Dr.  Pearce  behaved  with  great  asperity,  Mr. 
Plampin  3  with  exceeding  and  most  delicate  kindness.  My 

1  Charles  Clagget,  a  musical  com-  2  The  entry  in  the  College  Regis- 
poser  and  inventor  of  musical  instru-  ter  of  Jesus  College  is  brief  and  to 
ments,  flourished  towards  the  close  the  point :  "  1794  Apr.  :  Coleridge 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  I  have  admonitus  est  per  magistrum  in  prce- 
been  unable  to  ascertain  whether  sentia  soczorwra." 
the  songs  in  question  were  ever  pub-  3  A  letter  to  George  Coleridge 
lished,  Dictionary  of  Music  and  Mu-  dated  April  16,  1794,  and  signed  J. 
sicians,  edited  by  George  Grove,  Plampin,  has  been  preserved.  The 
D.  C.  L.,  1879,  article  "  Clagget,"  pains  and  penalties  to  which  Cole- 
i.  359.  ridge  had  subjected  himself  are 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  71 

sentence  is  a  reprimand  (not  a  public  one,  but  implied  in 
the  sentence),  a  month's  confinement  to  the  precincts  of 
the  College,  and  to  translate  the  works  of  Demetrius  Pha- 
lareus  into  English.  It  is  a  thin  quarto  of  about  ninety 
Greek  pages.  All  the  fellows  tried  to  persuade  the  Mas- 
ter to  greater  leniency,  but  in  vain.  Without  the  least 
affectation  I  applaud  his  conduct,  and  think  nothing  of  it. 
The  confinement  is  nothing.  I  have  the  fields  and  grove 
of  the  College  to  walk  in,  and  what  can  I  wish  more  ? 
What  do  I  wish  more  ?  Nothing.  The  Demetrius  is  dry, 
and  utterly  untransferable  to  modern  use,  and  yet  from 
the  Doctor's  words  I  suspect  that  he  wishes  it  to  be  a 
publication,  as  he  has  more  than  once  sent  to  know  how  I 
go  on,  and  pressed  me  to  exert  erudition  in  some  notes, 
and  to  write  a  preface.  Besides  this,  I  have  had  a  decla- 
mation to  write  in  the  routine  of  college  business,  and 
the  Eustat  examination,  at  which  I  got  credit.  I  get  up 
every  morning  at  five  o'clock. 

Every  one  of  my  acquaintance  I  have  dropped  solemnly 
and  forever,  except  those  of  my  College  with  whom  be- 
fore my  departure  I  had  been  least  of  all  connected  — 
who  had  always  remonstrated  against  my  imprudences, 
yet  have  treated  me  with  almost  fraternal  affection,  Mr. 
Caldwell  particularly.  I  thought  the  most  decent  way 
of  dropping  acquaintances  was  to  express  my  intention, 
openly  and  irrevocably. 

I  find  I  must  either  go  out  at  a  by-term  or  degrade  to 
the  Christmas  after  next ;  but  more  of  this  to-morrow.  I 
have  been  engaged  in  finishing  a  Greek  ode.  I  mean  to 
write  for  all  the  prizes.  I  have  had  no  time  upon  my 
hands.  I  shall  aim  at  correctness  and  perspicuity,  not 
genius.  My  last  ode  was  so  sublime  that  nobody  could 

stated  in  full,  but  the  kindly  nature  proper ;  and  I  beg  to  assure  you  that 

of  the  writer  is  shown  in  the  con-  it  will  give  me  much  pleasure  to  see 

eluding  sentence :   "  I  am  happy  in  him  take  such  an  advantage  of  his 

adding  that  I  thought  your  brother's  experience  as  his  own  good  sense  will 

conduct   on   his    return    extremely  dictate." 


72  STUDENT  LIFE  [JULY 

understand  it.  If  I  should  be  so  very  lucky  as  to  win 
one  of  the  prizes,  I  could  comfortably  ask  the  Doctor 
advice  concerning  the  time  of  my  degree.  I  will  write 
to-morrow. 

God  bless  you,  my  brother  !  my  father ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXXII.    TO   ROBERT    SOUTHEY. 

GLOUCESTEB,  Sunday  morning,  July  6,  1794. 

S.  T.  Coleridge  to  R.  Southey,  Health  and  Republican- 
ism to  be !  When  you  write,  direct  to  me,  "  To  be  kept  at 
the  Post  Office,  Wrexham,  Denbighshire,  N.  Wales."  I 
mention  this  circumstance  now,  lest  carried  away  by  a 
flood  of  confluent  ideas  I  should  forget  it.  You  are  averse 
to  gratitudinarian  flourishes,  else  would  I  talk  about  hos- 
pitality, attentions,  etc.  However,  as  I  must  not  thank 
you,  I  will  thank  my  stars.  Verily,  Southey,  I  like  not 
Oxford  nor  the  inhabitants  of  it.  I  would  say,  thou  art 
a  nightingale  among  owls,  but  thou  art  so  songless  and 
heavy  towards  night  that  I  will  rather  liken  thee  to  the 
matin  lark.  Thy  nest  is  in  a  blighted  cornfield,  where 
the  sleepy  poppy  nods  its  red-cowled  head,  and  the  weak- 
eyed  mole  plies  his  dark  work ;  but  thy  soaring  is  even 
unto  heaven.  Or  let  me  add  (for  my  appetite  for  sim- 
iles is  truly  canine  at  this  moment)  that  as  the  Italian 
nobles  their  new-fashioned  doors,  so  thou  dost  make  the 
adamantine  gate  of  democracy  turn  on  its  golden  hinges  to 
most  sweet  music.  Our  journeying  has  been  intolerably 
fatiguing  from  the  heat  and  whiteness  of  the  roads,  and 
the  unhedged  country  presents  nothing  but  stone  fences, 
dreary  to  the  eye  and  scorching  to  the  touch.  But  we 
shall  soon  be  in  Wales. 

Gloucester  is  a  nothing-to-be-said-about  town.  The 
women  have  almost  all  of  them  sharp  noses. 

It   is  wrong,  Southey!   for  a  little  girl  with  a  half- 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  73 

famished  sickly  baby  in  her  arms  to  put  her  head  in  at 
the  window  of  an  inn  —  "  Pray  give  me  a  bit  of  bread 
and  meat !  "  from  a  party  dining  on  lamb,  green  peas, 
and  salad.  Why  ?  Because  it  is  impertinent  and  obtru- 
sive !  "  I  am  a  gentleman  !  and  wherefore  the  clamorous 
voice  of  woe  intrude  upon  mine  ear  ?  "  My  companion  is 
a  man  of  cultivated,  though  not  vigorous  understanding  ; 
his  feelings  are  all  on  the  side  of  humanity ;  yet  such  are 
the  unfeeling  remarks,  which  the  lingering  remains  of 
aristocracy  occasionally  prompt.  When  the  pure  system 
of  pantisocracy  shall  have  aspheterized  —  from  d,  non, 
and  o-^eVepos,  proprius  (we  really  wanted  such  a  word),  in- 
stead of  travelling  along  the  circuitous,  dusty,  beaten 
highroad  of  diction,  you  thus  cut  across  the  soft,  green, 
pathless  field  of  novelty !  Similes  for  ever !  Hurrah  !  I 
have  bought  a  little  blank  book,  and  portable  ink  horn ; 
[and]  as  I  journey  onward,  I  ever  and  anon  pluck  the 
wild  flowers  of  poesy,  "  inhale  their  odours  awhile,"  then 
throw  them  away  and  think  no  more  of  them.  I  will  not 
do  so  !  Two  lines  of  mine  :  — 

And  o'er  the  sky's  unclouded  blue 
The  sultry  heat  suffus'd  a  brassy  hue. 

The  cockatrice  is  a  foul  dragon  with  a  crown  on  its  head. 
The  Eastern  nations  believe  it  to  be  hatched  by  a  viper 
on  a  cock's  egg.  Southey,  dost  thou  not  see  wisdom 
in  her  Coan  vest  of  allegory  ?  The  cockatrice  is  emblem- 
atic of  monarchy,  a  monster  generated  by  ingratitude 
or  absurdity.  When  serpents  sting,  the  only  remedy  is 
to  kill  the  serpent,  and  besmear  the  wound  with  the  fat. 
Would  you  desire  better  sympathy  ? 

Description  of  heat  from  a  poem  I  am  manufacturing, 
the  title  :  "  Perspiration.     A  Travelling  Eclogue." 

The  dust  flies  smothering,  as  on  clatt'ring  wheel 
Loath'd  aristocracy  careers  along ; 


74  STUDENT  LIFE  [JuLT 

The  distant  track  quick  vibrates  to  the  eye, 
And  white  and  dazzling  undulates  with  heat, 
Where  scorching  to  the  unwary  travellers'  touch, 
The  stone  fence  flings  its  narrow  slip  of  shade ; 
Or,  where  the  worn  sides  of  the  chalky  road 
Yield  their  scant  excavations  (sultry  grots  !), 
Emblem  of  languid  patience,  we  behold 
The  fleecy  files  faint-ruminating  lie. 

Farewell,  sturdy  Republican  !  Write  me  concerning 
Burnett  and  thyself,  and  concerning  etc.,  etc.  My  next 
shall  be  a  more  sober  and  chastened  epistle  ;  but,  you  see, 
I  was  in  the  humour  for  metaphors,  and,  to  tell  thee  the 
truth,  I  have  so  of  ten  serious  reasons  to  quarrel  with  my 
inclination,  that  I  do  not  choose  to  contradict  it  for  trifles. 
To  Lovell,  fraternity  and  civic  remembrances !  Hucks' 

compliments. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Addressed  to  "  Kobert  Southey.    Miss  Tyler's,  Bristol." 

XXXIII.    TO  THE   SAME. 

WKEXHAM,  Sunday,  July  15,  1794.1 

Your  letter,  Southey  !  made  me  melancholy.     Man  is  a 
bundle  of  habits,  but  of  all  habits  the  habit  of  despond- 
ence is  the  most  pernicious  to  virtue  and  happiness.     I| 
once  shipwrecked  my  frail  bark  on  that  rock  ;  a  friendly 
plank  was  vouchsafed  me.    Be  you  wise  by  my  experience, 

1  A  -week  later,  July  22,  in  a  let-  year.  Coleridge's  letters  from  for- 
ter  addressed  to  H.  Martin,  of  Jesus  eign  parts  were  written  with  a  view 
College,  to  whom,  in  the  following  to  literary  effect,  and  often  with  the 
September,  he  dedicated  "  The  Fall  half -formed  intention  of  sending 
of  Robespierre,"  Coleridge  repeated  them  to  the  "  booksellers."  They 
almost  verbatim  large  portions  of  this  are  to  be  compared  with  "letters 
lettre  de  voyage.  The  incident  of  the  from  our  own  correspondent,"  and  in 
sentiment  and  the  Welsh  clergyman  respect  of  picturesque  adventure, 
takes  a  somewhat  different  shape,  dramatic  dialogue,  and  so  forth,  must 
and  both  versions  differ  from  the  re-  be  judged  solely  by  a  literary  stand- 
port  of  the  same  occurrence  con-  ard.  Biographia  Literaria,  1847, 
tained  in  Hucks'  account  of  the  tour,  ii.  338-343 ;  J.  Hucks'  Tour  in  North 
which  was  published  in  the  following  Wales,  1795,  p.  25. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  75 

and  receive  unhurt  the  flower,  which  I  have  climbed  preci- 
pices to  pluck.  Consider  the  high  advantages  which  you 
possess  in  so  eminent  a  degree  —  health,  strength  of  mind, 
and  confirmed  habits  of  strict  morality.  Beyond  all  doubt, 
by  the  creative  powers  of  your  genius,  you  might  supply 
whatever  the  stern  simplicity  of  republican  wants  could 
require.  Is  there  no  possibility,  of  procuring  the  office  of 
clerk  in  a  compting-house  ?  A  month's  application  would 
qualify  you  for  it.  For  God's  sake,  Southey !  enter  not 
into  the  church.  Concerning  Allen  I  say  little,  but  I  feel 
anguish  at  times.  This  earnestness  of  remonstrance !  I 
will  not  offend  you  by  asking  your  pardon  for  it.  The 
following  is  a  fact.  A  friend  of  Hucks'  after  long  strug- 
gles between  principle  and  interest,  as  it  is  improperly 
called,  accepted  a  place  under  government.  He  took  the 
oaths,  shuddered,  went  home  and  threw  himself  in  an 
agony  out  of  a  two-pair  of  stairs  window  !  These  dreams 
of  despair  are  most  soothing  to  the  imagination.  I  well 
know  it.  We  shroud  ourselves  in  the  mantle  of  distress, 
and  tell  our  poor  hearts,  "  This  is  happiness  !  "  There 
is  a  dignity  in  all  these  solitary  emotions  that  flatters  the 
pride  of  our  nature.  Enough  of  sermonizing.  As  I  was 
meditating  on  the  capability  of  pleasure  in  a  mind  like 
yours,  I  unwarily  fell  into  poetry  : l  — 

'T  is  thine  with  fairy  forms  to  talk, 
And  thine  the  philosophic  walk  ; 
And  what  to  thee  the  sweetest  are  — 
The  setting  sun,  the  Evening  Star  — 
The  tints,  that  live  along  the  sky, 
The  Moon,  that  meets  thy  raptured  eye, 
Where  grateful  oft  the  big  drops  start, 
Dear  silent  pleasures  of  the  Heart ! 
But  if  thou  pour  one  votive  lay, 
For  humble  independence  pray  ; 

1  The  lines  are  from  "  Happiness,"    See  Poetical  Works,  p.  17.    See,  too, 
an  early  poem  first  published  in  1834.    Editor's  *Note,  p.  564. 


76  STUDENT  LIFE  [JULY 

Whom  (sages  say)  in  days  of  yore 

Meek  ^Competence  to  Wisdom  bore. 

So  shall  thy  little  vessel  glide 

With  a  fair  breeze  adown  the  tide, 

Till  Death  shall  close  thy  tranquil  eye 

While  Faith  exclaims  :  "  Thou  shalt  not  die  !  " 

"  The  heart-smile  glowing  on  his  aged  cheek 
Mild  as  decaying  light  of  summer's  eve," 

are  lines  eminently  beautiful.  The  whole  is  pleasing. 
For  a  motto  !  Surely  my  memory  has  suffered  an  epileptic 
fit.  A  Greek  motto  would  be  pedantic.  These  lines  will 
perhaps  do :  — 

All  mournful  to  the  pensive  sages'  eye,1 
The  monuments  of  human  glory  lie  ; 
Fall'n  palaces  crush 'd  by  the  ruthless  haste 
Of  Time,  and  many  an  empire's  silent  waste  — 

But  where  a  sight  shall  shuddering  sorrow  find 
Sad  as  the  ruins  of  the  human  mind,  — 

BOWLES. 

A  better  will  soon  occur  to  me.  Poor  Poland  !  They 
go  on  sadly  there.  Warmth  of  particular  friendship  does 
not  imply  absorption.  The  nearer  you  approach  the  sun, 
the  more  intense  are  his  rays.  Yet  what  distant  corner  of 
the  system  do  they  not  cheer  and  vivify  ?  The  ardour  of 
private  attachments  makes  philanthropy  a  necessary  habit 
of  the  soul.  I  love  my  friend.  Such  as  he  is,  all  mankind 
are  or  might  be.  The  deduction  is  evident.  Philanthropy 
(a,nd  indeed  every  other  virtue)  is  a  thing  of  concretion. 
Some  home-born  feeling  is  the  centre  of  the  ball,  that 
rolling  on  through  life  collects  and  assimilates  every  con- 
genial affection.  What  did  you  mean  by  H.  has  "  my 

1  Quoted  from  a  poem  by  Bowles  lines  of  the  quotation  as  a  motto  for 

entitled,  "  Verses   inscribed  to   His  his  "  Botany  Bay  Eclogues."    Poet- 

Grace  the  Duke  of  Leeds,  and  other  ical  Works  of  Milman,  Bowles,  etc., 

Promoters  of  the  Philanthropic  Soci-  Paris,  1829,  p.  117  ;  Southey's  Poeti- 

ety."    Southey  adopted  the  last  two  col  Works,  1837,  ii.  71. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  77 

understanding  "  ?  I  have  puzzled  myself  in  vain  to  dis- 
cover the  import  of  the  sentence.  The  only  sense  it 
seemed  to  bear  was  so  like  mock-humility,  that  I  scolded 
myself  for  the  momentary  supposition.1  My  heart  is  so 
heavy  at  present,  that  I  will  defer  the  finishing  of  this 
letter  till  to-morrow. 

I  saw  a  face  in  Wrexham  Church  this  morning,  which 
recalled  "  Thoughts  full  of  bitterness  and  images "  too 
dearly  loved  I  now  past  and  but  "  Remembered  like  sweet 
sounds  of  yesterday !  "  At  Ross  (sixteen  miles  from 
Gloucester)  we  took  up  our  quarters  at  the  King's  Arms, 
once  the  house  of  Kyrle,  the  Man  of  Ross.  I  gave  the 
window-shutter  the  following  effusion  : 2  — 

Richer  than  Misers  o'er  their  countless  hoards, 

Nobler  than  Kings,  or  king-polluted  LordvS, 

Here  dwelt  the  Man  of  Ross  !     O  Traveller,  hear ! 

Departed  Merit  claims  the  glistening  tear. 

Friend  to  the  friendless,  to  the  sick  man  health, 

"With  generous  joy  he  viewed  his  modest  wealth ; 

He  heard  the  widow's  heaven-breathed  prayer  of  praise, 

He  mark'd  the  sheltered  orphan's  tearful  gaze ; 

And  o'er  the  dowried  maiden's  glowing  cheek 

Bade  bridal  love  suffuse  its  blushes  meek. 

If  'neath  this  roof  thy  wine-cheer'd  moments  pass, 

Fill  to  the  good  man's  name  one  grateful  glass  ! 

To  higher  zest  shall  Memory  wake  thy  soul, 

And  Virtue  mingle  in  the  sparkling  bowl. 

But  if,  like  me,  thro'  life's  distressful  scene, 

Lonely  and  sad  thy  pilgrimage  hath  been, 

And  if  thy  breast  with  heart-sick  anguish  fraught, 

Thou  journeyest  onward  tempest-tost  in  thought, 

Here  cheat  thy  cares,  —  in  generous  visions  melt, 

And  dream  of  Goodness  thou  hast  never  felt ! 

I  will  resume  the  pen  to-morrow. 

1  Southey,  we  may  suppose,  had         2  Poetical  Works,  p.  33.    See,  too, 
contrasted   Hucks   with   Coleridge.     Editor's  Note,  p.  570. 
"  H.  is  on  my  level,  not  yours." 


78  STUDENT  LIFE  [JULY 

Monday,  11  o'clock.  Well,  praised  be  God  !  here  I 
am.  Videlicet,  Ruthin,  sixteen  miles  from  Wrexham.  At 
Wrexham  Church  I  glanced  upon  the  face  of  a  Miss  E. 
Evans,  a  young  lady  with  [whom]  I  had  been  in  habits  of 
fraternal  correspondence.  She  turned  excessively  pale ; 
she  thought  it  my  ghost,  I  suppose.  I  retreated  with  all 
possible  speed  to  our  inn.  There,  as  I  was  standing  at  the 
window,  passed  by  Eliza  Evans,  and  with  her  to  my  utter 
surprise  her  sister,  Mary  Evans,  quam  efflictim  et  perdite 
amabam.  I  apprehend  she  is  come  from  London  on  a 
visit  to  her  grandmother,  with  whom  Eliza  lives.  I  turned 
sick,  and  all  but  fainted  away !  The  two  sisters,  as  H. 
informs  me,  passed  by  the  window  anxiously  several  times 
afterwards  ;  but  I  had  retired. 

Vivit,  sed  mihi  non  vivit  —  nova  forte  marita, 
Ah  dolor !  alterius  card,  a  cervice  pependit. 
Vos,  malefida  valete  accensce  insomnia  mentis, 
Littora  amata  valete  !  Vale,  ah  !  formosa  Maria  ! 

My  fortitude  would  not  have  supported  me,  had  I  recog- 
nized her  —  I  mean  appeared  to  do  it !  I  neither  ate  nor  / 
slept  yesterday.  /  But  love  is  a .  local  anguish  ;  I  am  six- 
teen miles  distant,  and  am  not  half  so  miserable/  I  must 
endeavour  to  forget  it  amid  the  terrible  graces  of  the  wild 
wood  scenery  that  surround  me.  I  never  durst  even  in  a 
whisper  avow  my  passion,  though  I  knew  she  loved  me. 
Where  were  my  fortunes  ?  and  why  should  I  make  her 
miserable  !  Almighty  God  bless  her !  Her  image  is  in 
the  sanctuary  of  my  heart,  and  never  can  it  be  torn  away 
but  with  the  strings  that  grapple  it  to  life.  Southey ! 
there  are  few  men  of  whose  delicacy  I  think  so  highly  as 
to  have  written  all  this.  I  am  glad  I  have  so  deemed  of 
you.  We  are  soothed  by  communications. 

Denbigh  (eight  miles  from  Ruthin). 

And  now  to  give  you  some  little  account  of  our  journey. 
Prom  Oxford  to  Gloucester,  to  Ross,  to  Hereford,  to 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  79 

Leominster,  to  Bishop's  Castle,  to  Welsh  Pool,  to  Llanfyl- 
lin,  nothing  occurred  worthy  notice  except  that  at  the  last 
place  I  preached  pantisocracy  and  aspheterism  with  so 
much  success  that  two  great  huge  fellows  of  butcher-like 
appearance  danced  about  the  room  in  enthusiastic  agita- 
tion. And  one  of  them  of  his  own  accord  called  for  a 
large  glass  of  brandy,  and  drank  it  off  to  this  his  own 
toast,  "  God  save  the  King  !  And  may  he  be  the  last." 
Southey  !  Such  men  may  be  of  use.  They  would  kill  the 
golden  calf  secundum  artem.  From  Llanfyllin  we  pene- 
trated into  the  interior  of  the  country  to  Llangunnog,  aj 
village  most  romantically  situated.  We  dined  there  on 
hashed  mutton,  cucumber,  bread  and  cheese,  and  beer,  and 
had  two  pots  of  ale  —  the  sum  total  of  the  expense  being 
sixteen  pence  for  both  of  us !  From  Llangunnog  we  walked 
over  the  mountains  to  Bala  —  most  sublimely  terrible  !  It 
was  scorchingly  hot.  I  applied  my  mouth  ever  and  anon  to 
the  side  of  the  rocks  and  sucked  in  draughts  of  water  cold 
as  ice,  and  clear  as  infant  diamonds  in  their  embryo  dew ! 
The  rugged  and  stony  clefts  are  stupendous,  and  in  winter 
must  form  cataracts  most  astonishing.  At  this  time  of 
the  year  there  is  just  water  enough  dashed  down  over 
them  to  "  soothe,  not  disturb  the  pensive  traveller's  ear." 
I  slept  by  the  side  of  one  an  hour  or  more.  As  we 
descended  the  mountain,  the  sun  was  reflected  in  the 
river,  that  winded  through  the  valley  with  insufferable 
brightness  ;  it  rivalled  the  sky.  At  Bala  is  nothing  re- 
markable except  a  lake  of  eleven  miles  in  circumference. 
At  the  inn  I  was  sore  afraid  that  I  had  caught  the  itch 
from  a  Welsh  democrat,  who  was  charmed  with  my  senti- 
ments :  he  grasped  my  hand  with  flesh-bruising  ardor,  and 
I  trembled  lest  some  disappointed  citizens  of  the  animal- 
cular  republic  should  have  emigrated. 

Shortly;  after,  into  the  same  room,  came  a  well-dressed 
clergyman  and  four  others,  among  whom  (the  landlady 
whispers  me)  was  a  justice  of  the  peace  and  the  doctor  of 


80  STUDENT  LIFE  [SEPT. 

the  parish.  I  was  asked  for  a  gentleman.  I  gave  General 
Washington.  The  parson  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Republi- 
cans  !  "  After  which,  the  medical  man  said,  "  Damn 
toasts  !  I  gives  a  sentiment :  May  all  republicans  be  guil- 
lotined ! "  Up  starts  the  Welsh  democrat.  "  May  all 
fools  be  gulloteen'd  —  and  then  you  will  be  the  first." 
Thereon  rogue,  villain,  traitor  flew  thick  in  each  other's 
faces  as  a  hailstorm.  This  is  nothing  in  Wales.  They 
make  calling  one  another  liars,  etc.,  necessary  vent-holes 
to  the  superfluous  fumes  of  the  temper.  At  last  I  endeav- 
oured to  articulate  by  observing  that,  whatever  might  be 
our  opinions  in  politics,  the  appearance  of  a  clergyman  in 
the  company  assured  me  we  were  all  Christians  ;  "  though," 
continued  I,  "  it  is  rather  difficult  to  reconcile  the  last  sen- 
timent with  the  spirit  of  Christianity."  "  Pho !  "  quoth 
the  parson,  "  Christianity !  Why,  we  are  not  at  church 
now,  are  we  ?  The  gemman's  sentiment  was  a  very  good 
one  ;  it  showed  he  was  sincere  in  his  principles."  Welsh 
politics  could  not  prevail  over  Welsh  hospitality.  They 
all,  except  the  parson,  shook  me  by  the  hand,  and  said  I 
was  an  open-hearted,  honest-speaking  fellow,  though  I  was 
a  bit  of  a  democrat. 

From  Bala  we  travelled  onward  to  Llangollen,  a  most 
beautiful  village  in  a  most  beautiful  situation.  On  the 
road  we  met  two  Cantabs  of  my  college,  Brookes  and  Berd- 
more.  These  rival  pedestrians  —  perfect  Powells  —  were 
vigorously  pursuing  their  tour  in  a  post-chaise !  We 
laughed  famously.  Their  only  excuse  was  that  Berdmore 
had  been  ill.  From  Llangollen  to  Wrexham,  from  Wrex- 
ham  to  Ruthin,  to  Denbigh.  At  Denbigh  is  a  ruined  cas- 
tle; it  surpasses  everything  I  could  have  conceived.  I 
wandered  there  an  hour  and  a  half  last  evening  (this  is 
Tuesday  morning).  Two  well-dressed  young  men  were 
walking  there.  "  Come,"  says  one,  "  I  '11  play  my  flute ; 
'twill  be  romantic."  "  Bless  thee  for  the  thought,  man  of 
genius  and  sensibility !  "  I  exclaimed,  and  preattuned  my 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  81 

heartstring  to  tremulous  emotion.  He  sat  adown  (the 
moon  just  peering)  amid  the  awful  part  of  the  ruins,  and 
the  romantic  youth  struck  up  the  affecting  tune  of  "  Mrs. 
Carey."  1  'T  is  fact,  upon  my  honour. 

God  bless  you,  Southey !  We  shall  be  at  Aberystwith  2 
this  day  week.  When  will  you  come  out  to  meet  us  ? 
There  you  must  direct  your  letter.  Hucks'  compliments. 
I  anticipate  much  accession  of  republicanism  from  Lovell. 
I  have  positively  done  nothing  but  dream  of  the  system  of 
no  property  every  step  of  the  way  since  I  left  you,  till  last 
Sunday.  Heigho ! 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY,  No.  8  Westcott  Buildings,  Bath. 

XXXIV.    TO   THE   SAME. 
10  o'clock,  Thursday  morning,  September  18,  1794. 

Well,  my  dear  Southey!  I  am  at  last  arrived  at  Jesus. 
My  God !  how  tumultuous  are  the  movements  of  my  heart. 
Since  I  quitted  this  room  what  and  how  important  events 
have  been  evolved  !  America  !  Southey !  Miss  Fricker  I 
Yes,  Southey,  you  are  right.  Even  Love  is  the  creature 
of  strong  motive.  I  certainly  love  her.  I  think  of  her 
incessantly  and  with  unspeakable  tenderness,  —  with  that 
inward  melting  away  of  soul  that  symptomatizes  it. 

Pantisocracy !  Oh,  I  shall  have  such  a  scheme  of 
it !  My  head,  my  heart,  are  all  alive.  I  have  drawn  up 
my  arguments  in  battle  array ;  they  shall  have  the  tacti- 

1  Hucks   records  the  incident  in  remark  to  me,  when  we  had  climbed 
much  the  same  words,  but  gives  the  to  the  top  of  Plinlimmon,  and  were 
name  of  the  tune  as  "  Corporal  Ca-  nearly  dead  with  thirst.     We  could 
sey."  not  speak  from  the  constriction  till 

2  The  letter  to  Martin  gives  further  we   found  a  little   puddle   under  a 
particulars   of   the   tour,   including  stone.    He  said  to  me, '  You  grinned 
the  ascent  of  Penmaen  Mawr  in  com-  like  an  idiot.'      He  had  done  the 
pany  with  Brookes  and  Berdmore.  same."     The  parching  thirst  of  the 
Compare    Table   Talk   for  May  31,  pedestrians,  and  their  excessive  joy 
1830  :    "I  took  the  thought  of  grin-  at  the  discovery  of  a  spring  of  water, 
ning  for  joy  in  that  poem  ( The  An-  are   recorded   by   Hucks.     Tour   in 
dent  Mariner)  from  my  companion's  North  Wales,  1795,  p.  62. 


82  STUDENT  LIFE  [SEPT. 

dan  excellence  of  the  mathematician  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  poet.  The  head  shall  be  the  mass ;  the  heart  the 
fiery  spirit  that  fills,  informs,  and  agitates  the  whole.  Har- 
wood  —  pish  !  I  say  nothing  of  him. 

SHAD  GOES  WITH  US.  HE  IS  MY  BKOTHER ! 
I  am  longing  to  be  with  you.  Make  Edith  my  sister. 
Surely,  Southey,  we  shall  be  frendotatoi  metafrendous  — 
most  friendly  where  all  are  friends.  She  must,  therefore, 
be  more  emphatically  my  sister. 

Brookes  and  Berdmore,  as  I  suspected,  have  spread  my 
opinions  in  mangled  forms  at  Cambridge.  Caldwell,  the 
most  pantisocratic  of  aristocrats,  has  been  laughing  at 
me.  Up  I  arose,  terrible  in  reasoning.  He  fled  from  me, 
because  "  he  could  not  answer  for  his  own  sanity,  sitting 
so  near  a  madman  of  genius."  He  told  me  that  the 
strength  of  my  imagination  had  intoxicated  my  reason, 
and  that  the  acuteness  of  my  reason  had  given  a  directing 
influence  to  my  imagination.  Four  months  ago  the  re- 
mark would  not  have  been  more  elegant  than  just.  Now 
it  is  nothing. 

I  like  your  sonnets  exceedingly  —  the  best  of  any  I 
have  yet  seen.1  "  Though  to  the  eye  fair  is  the  extended 
vale  "  should  be  "  to  the  eye  though  fair  the  extended  vale." 
I  by  no  means  disapprove  of  discord  introduced  to  produce 
effect,  nor  is  my  ear  so  fastidious  as  to  be  angry  with  it 
where  it  could  not  have  been  avoided  without  weakening 
the  sense.  But  discord  for  discord's  sake  is  rather  too 
licentious. 

"  Wild  wind  "  has  no  other  but  alliterative  beauty ;  it 
applies  to  a  storm,  not  to  the  autumnal  breeze  that  makes 
the  trees  rustle  mournfully.  Alter  it  to  "  That  rustle  to 
the  sad  wind  meaningly." 

"  'T  was  a  long  way  and  tedious,"  and  the  three  last 
lines  are  marked  beauties  —  unlaboured  strains  poured 
soothingly  along  from  the  feeling  simplicity  of  heart.  The 
1  Southey's  Poetical  Works,  1837,  ii.  93. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  83 

next  sonnet  is  altogether  exquisite,  —  the  circumstance 
common  yet  new  to  poetry,  the  moral  accurate  and  full  of 
soul.1  "  I  never  saw,"  etc.,  is  most  exquisite.  I  am  almost 
ashamed  to  write  the  following,  it  is  so  inferior.  Ashamed? 
No,  Southey !  God  knows  my  heart !  I  am  delighted  to 
feel  you  superior  to  me  in  genius  as  in  virtue. 

No  more  my  visionary  soul  shall  dwell 

On  joys  that  were ;  no  more  endure  to  weigh 

The  shame  and  anguish  of  the  evil  day. 

Wisely  forgetful !     O'er  the  ocean  swell 

Sublime  of  Hope,  I  seek  the  cottag'd  dell 

Where  Virtue  calm  with  careless  step  may  stray, 

And,  dancing  to  the  moonlight  roundelay, 

The  wizard  Passions  weave  an  holy  spell. 

Eyes  that  have  ach'd  with  sorrow !  ye  shall  weep 

Tears  of  doubt-mingled  joy,  like  theirs  who  start 

From  precipices  of  distemper'd  sleep, 

On  which  the  fierce-eyed  fiends  their  revels  keep, 

And  see  the  rising  sun,  and  feel  it  dart 

New  rays  of  pleasance  trembling  to  the  heart.2 

I  have  heard  from  Allen,  and  write  the  third  letter  to 
him.  Yours  is  the  second.  Perhaps  you  would  like  two 
sonnets  I  have  written  to  my  Sally.  When  I  have  re- 
ceived an  answer  from  Allen  I  will  tell  you  the  contents 
of  his  first  letter. 

My  compliments  to  Heath. 

I  will  write  you  a  huge,  big  letter  next  week.  At  pres- 
ent I  have  to  transact  the  tragedy  business,  to  wait  on  the 
Master,  to  write  to  Mrs.  Southey,  Lovell,  etc.,  etc. 

God  love  you,  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

1  Southey's  Poetical  Works,  1837,        2  See  Letter  XLI.  p.  110,  note  1. 
ii.  94. 


84  STUDENT  LIFE  [SEPT. 

.  XXXV.    TO  THE   SAME. 

Friday  morning,  September  19,  1794. 

My  fire  was  blazing  cheerfully  —  the  tea-kettle  even 
now  boiled  over  on  it.  Now  sudden  sad  it  looks.  But, 
see,  it  blazes  up  again  as  cheerily  as  ever.  Such,  dear 
Southey,  was  the  effect  of  your  this  morning's  letter  on 
my  heart.  Angry,  no  !  I  esteem  and  confide  in  you  the 
more  ;  but  it  did  make  me  sorrowful.  I  was  blameless ; 
it  was  therefore  only  a  passing  cloud  empictured  on  the 
breast.  Surely  had  I  written  to  you  ihejlrst  letter  you 
directed  to  me  at  Cambridge,  I  would  not  have  believed 
that  you  could  have  received  it  without  answering  it. 
Still  less  that  you  could  have  given  a  momentary  pain  to 
her  that  loved  you.  If  I  could  have  imagined  no 
rational  excuse  for  you,  I  would  have  peopled  the  vacancy 
with  events  of  impossibility ! 

On  Wednesday,  September  17, 1  arrived  at  Cambridge. 
Perhaps  the  very  hour  you  were  writing  in  the  severity  of 
offended  friendship,  was  I  pouring  forth  the  heart  to 
Sarah  Fricker.  I  did  not  call  on  Caldwell ;  I  saw  no  one. 
On  the  moment  of  my  arrival  I  shut  my  door,  and  wrote 
to  her.  But  why  not  before  ? 

In  the  first  place  Miss  F.  did  not  authorize  me  to 
direct  immediately  to  her.  It  was  settled  that  through 
you  in  our  weekly  parcels  were  the  letters  to  be  conveyed. 
The  moment  I  arrived  at  Cambridge,  and  all  yesterday, 
was  I  writing  letters  to  you,  to  your  mother,  to  Lovell, 
etc.,  to  complete  a  parcel. 

In  London  I  wrote  twice  to  you,  intending  daily  to  go 
to  Cambridge  ;  of  course  I  deferred  the  parcel  till  then. 
I  was  taken  ill,  very  ill.  I  exhausted  my  finances,  and 
ill  as  I  was,  I  sat  down  and  scrawled  a  few  guineas'  worth 
of  nonsense  for  the  booksellers,  which  Dyer  disposed  of 
for  me.  Languid,  sick  at  heart,  in  the  back  room  of  an 
inn  !  Lofty  conjunction  of  circumstances  for  me  to  write 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  85 

to  Miss  F.  Besides,  I  told  her  I  should  write  the  moment 
I  arrived  at  Cambridge.  I  have  fulfilled  the  promise. 
Recollect,  Southey,  that  when  you  mean  to  go  to  a  place 
to-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  the  time  that 
intervenes  is  lost.  Had  I  meant  at  first  to  stay  in  Lon- 
don, a  fortnight  should  not  have  elapsed  without  my 
writing  to  her.  If  you  are  satisfied,  tell  Miss  F.  that 
you  are  so,  but  assign  no  reasons  —  I  ought  not  to  have 
been  suspected. 

The  tragedy 1  will  be  printed  in  less  than  a  week.  I 
shall  put  my  name,  because  it  will  sell  at  least  a  hundred 
copies  in  Cambridge.  It  would  appear  ridiculous  to  put 
two  names  to  such  a  work.  But,  if  you  choose  it,  mention 
it  and  it  shall  be  done.  To  every  man  who  praises  it,  of 
course  I  give  the  true  biography  of  it;  to  those  who 
laugh  at  it,  I  laugh  again,  and  I  am  too  well  known  at 
Cambridge  to  be  thought  the  less  of,  even  though  I  had 
published  James  Jennings'  Satire. 

Southey !     Precipitance  is  wrong.     There  may  be  too 
high  a  state  of  health,  perhaps  even  virtue  is  liable  to  a 
plethora.      I  have  been  the  slave  of  impulse,  the  child 
of  imbecility.     But  my  inconsistencies  have  given  me  a 
tarditude  and  reluctance  to  think  ill  of  any  one.     Having  \ 
been  often  suspected  of    wrong  when  I  was  altogether 
right,  from  fellow-feeling  I  judge  not  too  hastily,  and 
from  appearances.     Your  undeviating  simplicity  of  recti-   ' 
tude   has   made  you  rapid   in  decision.     Having   never 
erred,  you  feel  more  indignation  at  error  than^>ifa/  for  it. 
There  is  phlogiston  in  your  heart.     Yet  am  I  grateful 
for  it.     You  would  not  have  written  so  angrily  but  for  -_-, 
the  greatness  of  your  esteem  and  affection.     The,,  more 
highly  we  have  been  wont  to  think  of  a  character,  the 

1  "  A  tragedy,  of  which  the  first  in  the  text  of  "An  Address  on  the 

act  was  written  by  S.  T.  Coleridge."  Present  War."     Condones  ad  Popu-     > 

See  footnote  to  quotation  from  "  The  lum,  1795,  p.  66. 
Fall  of  Robespierre,"  which  occurs 


86  STUDENT  LIFE  [Ocx. 

more  pain  and  irritation  we  suffer  from  the  discovery  of 
its~imperfections.  My  heart  is  very  heavy,  much  more 
so  than  when  I  began  to  write. 

Yours  most  fraternally. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXXVI.   TO   THE   SAME. 

Friday  night,  September  26,  1794. 

MY  DEAR,  DEAR  SouTHEY,  —  I  am  beyond  measure 
distressed  and  agitated  by  your  letter  to  Favell.  On  the 
evening  of  the  Wednesday  before  last,  I  arrived  in  Cam- 
bridge; that  night  and  the  next  day  I  dedicated  to 
writing  to  you,  to  Miss  F.,  etc.  On  the  Friday  I  received 
yoifr  letter  of  phlogistic  rebuke.  I  answered  it  immedi- 
ately, wrote  a  second  letter  to  Miss  F.,  inclosed  them  in 
the  aforesaid  parcel,  and  sent  them  off  by  the  mail  directed 
to  Mrs.  Southey,  No.  8  Westcott  Buildings,  Bath.  They 
should  have  arrived  on  Sunday  morning.  Perhaps  you 
have  not  heard  from  Bath ;  perhaps  —  damn  perhapses ! 
My  God,  my  God !  what  a  deal  of  pain  you  must  have 
suffered  before  you  wrote  that  letter  to  Favell.  It  is  an 
Ipswich  Fair  time,  and  the  Norwich  company  are  theat- 
ricalizing. They  are  the  first  provincial  actors  in  the 
kingdom.  Much  against  my  will,  I  am  engaged  to  drink 
tea  and  go  to  the  play  with  Miss  Brunton l  (Mrs.  Merry's 

1  One  of  six  sisters,  daughters  of  Coleridge's  Miss  Brunton,  to  whom 

John  Brunton  of  Norwich.      Eliza-  he  sent  a  poem  on  the  French  Revo- 

beth,  the  eldest  of  the  family,  was  lution,  that  is,  "  The  Fall  of  Robes- 

married   in    1791    to  Robert  Merry  pierre,"    must  have  been  an    inter- 

the  dramatist,    the  founder  of   the  mediate  sister  less  known  to  fame, 

so-called   Delia   Cruscan    school   of  It  is  curious  to  note  that  "  The  Right 

poetry.    Louisa  Brunton,  the  young-  Hon.  Lady  Craven  "  was  a  subscrib- 

est  sister,    afterwards   Countess   of  er  to  the  original  issue  of  The  Friend 

Craven,  made  her  first  appearance  at  in    1809.     National    Dictionary    of 

Covent  Garden  Theatre  on  October  Biography,  articles    "Craven"  and 

5,  1803,  and  at  most  could  not  have  "Merry."     Letters  of  the  Lake  Poets, 

been  more  than  twelve  or  thirteen  1885,  p.  455. 
years  of  age  in  the  autumn  of  1794. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  87 

sister).  The  young  lady,  and  indeed  the  whole  family, 
have  taken  it  into  their  heads  to  be  very  much  attached 
to  me,  though  I  have  known  them  only  six  days.  The 
father  (who  is  the  manager  and  proprietor  of  the  theatre) 
inclosed  in  a  very  polite  note  a  free  ticket  for  the  season. 
The  young  lady  is  said  to  be  the  most  literary  of  the 
beautiful,  and  the  most  beautiful  of  the  literate.  It  may 
be  so ;  my  faculties  and  discernments  are  so  completely 
jaundiced  by  vexation  that  the  Virgin  Mary  and  Mary 
Flanders,  alias  Moll,  would  appear  in  the  same  hues. 

All  last  night,  I  was  obliged  to  listen  to  the  damned 
chatter  of  our  mayor,  a  fellow  that  would  certainly  be  a 
pantisocrat,  were  his  head  and  heart  as  highly  illuminated 
as  his  face.  At  present  he  is  a  High  Churchman,  and  a 
Pittite,  and  is  guilty  (with  a  very  large  fortune)  of  so 
many  rascalities  in  his  public  character,  that  he  is  obliged 
to  drink  three  bottles  of  claret  a  day  in  order  to  acquire 
a  stationary  rubor,  and  prevent  him  from  the  trouble  of 
running  backwards  and  forwards  for  a  blush  once  every 
five  minutes.  In  the  tropical  latitudes  of  this  fellow's 
nose  was  I  obliged  to  fry.  I  wish  you  would  write  a 
lampoon  upon  him  —  in  me  it  would  be  unchristian  re- 
venge. 

Our  tragedy  is  printed,  all  but  the  title-page.  It  will 
be  complete  by  Saturday  night. 

God  love  you.  I  am  in  the  queerest  humour  in  the 
world,  and  am  out  of  love  with  everybody. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXXVII.    TO  THE   SAME. 

October  21,  1794. 

To  you  alone,  Southey,  I  write  the  first  part  of  this 
letter.  To  yourself  confine  it. 

"  Is  this  handwriting  altogether  erased  from  your 
memory  ?  To  whom  am  I  addressing  myself  ?  For 
whom  am  I  now  violating  the  rules  of  female  delicacy  ? 


88  STUDENT  LIFE  [OCT. 

Is  it  for  the  same  Coleridge,  whom  I  once  regarded  as  a 
sister  her  best-beloved  Brother?  Or  for  one  who  will 
ridicule  that  advice  from  me,  which  he  has  rejected  as 
offered  by  his  family?  I  will  hazard  the  attempt.  I 
have  no  right,  nor  do  I  feel  myself  inclined  to  reproach 
you  for  the  Past.  God  forbid  !  You  have  already  suf- 
fered too  much  from  self-accusation.  But  I  conjure  you, 
Coleridge,  earnestly  and  solemnly  conjure  you  to  consider 
long  and  deeply,  before  you  enter  into  any  rash  schemes. 
There  is  an  Eagerness  in  your  Nature,  which  is  ever  hurry- 
ing you  in  the  sad  Extreme.  I  have  heard  that  you  mean 
to  leave  England,  and  on  a  Plan  so  absurd  and  extrava- 
gant that  were  I  for  a  moment  to  imagine  it  true,  I  should 
be  obliged  to  listen  with  a  more  patient  Ear  to  sugges- 
tions, which  I  have  rejected  a  thousand  times  with  scorn 
and  anger.  Yes !  whatever  Pain  I  might  suffer,  I  should 
be  forced  to  exclaim,  '  O  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'er- 
thrown,  Blasted  with  ecstacy.'  You  have  a  country,  does 
it  demand  nothing  of  you  ?  You  have  doting  Friends  ! 
Will  you  break  their  Hearts !  There  is  a  God  —  Cole- 
ridge !  Though  I  have  been  told  (indeed  I  do  not  believe 
it)  that  you  doubt  of  his  existence  and  disbelieve  a  here- 
after. No !  you  have  too  much  sensibility  to  be  an  Infidel. 
You  know  I  never  was  rigid  in  my  opinions  concerning 
Religion  —  and  have  always  thought  faith  to  be  only 
Reason  applied  to  a  particular  subject.  In  short,  I  am 
the  same  Being  as  when  you  used  to  say,  '  We  thought 
in  all  things  alike.'  I  often  reflect  on  the  happy  hours 
we  spent  together  and  regret  the  Loss  of  your  Society.  I 
cannot  easily  forget  those  whom  I  once  loved  —  nor  can 
I  easily  form  new  Friendships.  I  find  women  in  general 
vain  —  all  of  the  same  Trifle,  and  therefore  little  and 
envious,  and  (I  am  afraid)  without  sincerity  ;  and  of  the 
other  sex  those  who  are  offered  and  held  up  to  my  esteem 
are  very  prudent,  and  very  worldly.  If  you  value  my 
peace  of  mind,  you  must  on  no  account  answer  this  let- 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  89 

ter,  or  take  the  least  notice  of  it.  I  would  not  for  the 
world  any  part  of  my  Family  should  suspect  that  I  have 
written  to  you.  My  mind  is  sadly  tempered  by  being 
perpetually  obliged  to  resist  the  solicitations  of  those 
whom  I  love.  I  need  not  explain  myself.  Farewell, 
Coleridge !  I  shall  always  feel  that  I  have  been  your 
/Sister" 

No  name  was  signed,  —  it  was  from  Mary  Evans.  I 
received  it  about  three  weeks  ago.  I  loved  her,  Southey, 
almost  to  madness.  Her  image  was  never  absent  from 
me  for  three  years,  for  more  than  three  years.  My  reso- 
lution has  not  faltered,  but  I  want  a  comforter.  I  have 
done  nothing,  I  have  gone  into  company,  I  was  constantly 
at  the  theatre  here  till  they  left  us,  I  endeavoured  to  be 
perpetually  with  Miss  Brunton,  I  even  hoped  that  her 
exquisite  beauty  and  uncommon  accomplishments  might 
have  cured  one  passion  by  another.  The  latter  I  could 
easily  have  dissipated  in  her  absence,  and  so  have  restored 
my  affections  to  her  whom  I  do  not  love,  but  whom  by 
every  tie  of  reason  and  honour  I  ought  to  love.  I  am 
resolved,  but  wretched !  But  time  shall  do  much.  You 
will  easily  believe  that  with  such  feelings  I  should  have 
found  it  no  easy  task  to  write  to .  I  should  have  de- 
tested myself,  if  after  my  first  letter  I  had  written  coldly 
—  how  could  I  write  as  warmly  ?  I  was  vexed  too  and 
alarmed  by  your  letter  concerning  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roberts, 
Shad,  and  little  Sally.  I  was  wrong,  very  wrong,  in  the 
affair  of  Shad,  and  have  given  you  reason  to  suppose  that 
I  should  assent  to  the  innovation.  I  will  most  assuredly  go 
with  you  to  America,  on  this  plan,  but  remember,  Southey, 
this  is  not  our  plan,  nor  can  I  defend  it.  "  Shad's  chil- 
dren will  be  educated  as  ours,  and  the  education  we  shall 
give  them  will  be  such  as  to  render  them  incapable  of 
blushing  at  the  want  of  it  in  their  parents  "  —  Perhaps  1 
With  this  one  word  would  every  Lilliputian  reasoner  de- 
molish the  system.  Wherever  men  can  be  vicious,  some 


90  STUDENT  LIFE  [Ocx. 

will  be.  The  leading  idea  of  pantisocracy  is  to  make  men 
necessarily  virtuous  by  removing  all  motives  to  evil  —  all 
possible  temptation.  "Let  them  dine  with  us  and  be 
treated  with  as  much  equality  as  they  would  wish,  but  per- 
form that  part  of  labour  for  which  their  education  has 
fitted  them."  Southey  should  not  have  written  this  sen- 
tence. My  friend,  my  noble  and  high-souled  friend  should 
have  said  to  his  dependents,  "  Be  my  slaves,  and  ye  shall 
be  my  equals  ;  "  to  his  wife  and  sister,  "  Resign  the  name 
of  Ladyship  and  ye  shall  retain  the  thing'''  Again.  Is 
X  every  family  to  possess  one  of  these  unequal  equals, 
these  Helot  Egalites?  Or  are  the  few  you  have  men- 
tioned, "with  more  toil  than  the  peasantry  of  England 
undergo,"  to  do  for  all  of  us  "  that  part  of  labour  which 
their  education  has  fitted  them  for  "  ?  If  your  remarks 
on  the  other  side  are  just,  the  inference  is  that  the  scheme 
of  pantisocracy  is  impracticable,  but  I  hope  and  believe 
that  it  is  not  a  necessary  inference.  Your  remark  of  the 
physical  evil  in  the  long  infancy  of  men  would  indeed 
puzzle  a  Pangloss  —  puzzle  him  to  account  for  the  wish 
of  a  benevolent  heart  like  yours  to  discover  malignancy-^ 
in  its  Creator.  Surely  every  eye  but  an  eye  jaundiced  \ 
by  habit  of  peevish  scepticism  must  have  seen  that  the 
mothers'  cares  are  repaid  even  to  rapture  by  the  mothers' 
endearments,  and  that  the  long  helplessness  of  the  babe 
is  the  means  of  our  superiority  in  the  filial  and  maternal 
affection  and  duties  to  the  same  feelings  in  the  brute  crea- 
tion. It  is  likewise  among  other  causes  the  means  of 
society,  that  thing  which  makes  them  a  little  lower  than 
the  angels.  If  Mrs.  S.  and  Mrs.  F.  go  with  us,  they  can 
at  least  prepare  the  food  of  simplicity  for  us.  Let  the 
married  women  do  only  what  is  absolutely  convenient 
and  customary  for  pregnant  women  or  nurses.  Let  the 
husband  do  all  the  rest,  and  what  will  that  all  be  ?  Wash- 
ing with  a  machine  and  cleaning  the  house.  One  hour's 
addition  to  our  daily  labor,  and  pantisocracy  in  its  most 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  91 

perfect  sense  is  practicable.  That  the  greater  part  of  our 
female  companions  should  have  the  task  of  maternal  ex- 
ertion at  the  same  time  is  very  improbable ;  but,  though 
it  were  to  happen,  an  infant  is  almost  always  sleeping, 
and  during  its  slumbers  the  mother  may  in  the  same  room 
perform  the  little  offices  of  ironing  clothes  or  making 
shirts.  But  the  hearts  of  the  women  are  not  all  with  us. 
I  do  believe  that  Edith  and  Sarah  are  exceptions,  but  do 
even  they  know  the  bill  of  fare  for  the  day,  every  duty 
that  will  be  incumbent  upon  them? 

All  necessary  knowledge  in  the  branch  of  ethics  is 
comprised  in  the  word  justice  :  that  the  good  of  the  whole 
is  the  good  of  each  individual,  that,  of  course,  it  is  each 
individual's  duty  to  be  just,  because  it  is  his  interest.  To 
perceive  this  and  to  assent  to  it  as  an  abstract  proposition 
is  easy,  but  it  requires  the  most  wakeful  attentions  of  the 
most  reflective  mind  in  all  moments  to  bring  it  into  prac- 
tice. It  is  not  enough  that  we  have  once  swallowed  it. 
The  heart  should  have/ee?  upon  the  truth,  as  insects  on  a 
leaf,  till  it  be  tinged  with  the  colour,  and  show  its'  food  in 
every  the  minutest  fibre.  In  the  book  of  pantisocracy  I 
hope  to  have  comprised  all  that  is  good  in  Godwin,  of 
whom  and  of  whose  book  I  will  write  more  fully  in  my 
next  letter  (I  think  not  so  highly  of  him  as  you  do,  and  I 
have  read  him  with  the  greatest  attention).  This  will 
be  an  advantage  to  the  minds  of  our  women. 

What  have  been  your  feelings  concerning  the  War  with 
America,  which  is  now  inevitable  ?  To  go  from  Ham- 
burg will  not  only  be  a  heavy  additional  expense,  but 
dangerous  and  uncertain,  as  nations  at  war  are  in  the 
habit  of  examining  neutral  vessels  to  prevent  the  impor- 
tation of  arms  and  seize  subjects  of  the  hostile  govern- 
ments. It  is  said  that  one  cause  of  the  ministers  having 
been  so  cool  on  the  business  is  that  it  will  prevent  emi- 
gration, which  it  seems  would  be  treasonable  to  a  hostile 
country.  Tell  me  all  you  think  on  these  subjects.  What 


92  STUDENT  LIFE  [Oci. 

think  you  of  the  difference  in  the  prices  of  land  as  stated 
by  Cowper  from  those  given  by  the  American  agents? 
By  all  means  read,  ponder  on  Cowper,  and  when  I  hear 
your  thoughts  I  will  give  you  the  result  of  my  own. 

Thou  bleedest,  my  poor  Heart !  and  thy  distress 

Doth  Reason  ponder  with  an  anguished  smile, 

Probing  thy  sore  wound  sternly,  tho'  the  while 

Her  eye  be  swollen  and  dim  with  heaviness. 

Why  didst  thou  listen  to  Hope's  whisper  bland  ? 

Or,  listening,  why  forget  its  healing  tale, 

When  Jealousy  with  feverish  fancies  pale 

Jarr'd  thy  fine  fibres  with  a  maniac's  hand  ? 

Faint  was  that  Hope,  and  rayless.     Yet  't  was  fair 

And  sooth'd  with  many  a  dream  the  hour  of  rest : 

Thou  should'st  have  loved  it  most,  when  most  opprest, 

And  nursed  it  with  an  agony  of  care, 

E'en  as  a  mother  her  sweet  infant  heir 

That  pale  and  sickly  droops  upon  her  breast ! * 

When  a  man  is  unhappy  he  writes  damned  bad  poetry,  I 
find.  My  Imitations  too  depress  my  spirits  —  the  task  is 
arduous,  and  grows  upon  me.  Instead  of  two  octavo  vol- 
umes, to  do  all  I  hoped  to  do  two  quartos  would  hardly 
be  sufficient. 

Of  your  poetry  I  will  send  you  a  minute  critique,  when 
I  send  you  my  proposed  alterations.  The  sonnets  are  ex- 
quisite.2 Banquo  is  not  what  it  deserves  to  be.  Towards 
the  end  it  grows  very  flat,  wants  variety  of  imagery  — 
you  dwell  too  long  on  Mary,  yet  have  made  less  of  her 
than  I  expected.  The  other  figures  are  not  sufficiently 
distinct ;  indeed,  the  plan  of  the  ode  (after  the  first  forty 
lines  which  are  most  truly  sublime)  is  so  evident  an  imi- 
tation of  Gray's  Descent  of  Odin,  that  I  would  rather 

1  This  sonnet,  afterwards  headed,  Poetical  Works,  p.  34.     See,  too,  Ed- 
"  On  a  Discovery  made  too  late,"  was  itor's  Note,  p.  571. 
"first  printed  in   Poems,   1796,   as  2  "The  Kace  of  Banquo."     Sou- 
Effusion  XIX.,  but  in  the  Contents  they's  Poetical  Works,  1837,  ii.  155. 
it  was  called, '  To  my  own  Heart.' " 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  93 

adopt  Shakespeare's  mode  of  introducing  the  figures  them- 
selves, and  making  the  description  now  the  Witches'  and 
now  Fleance's.  I  detest  monodramas,  but  I  never  wished 
to  establish  my  judgment  on  the  throne  of  critical  despot- 
ism. Send  me  up  the  Elegy  on  the  Exiled  Patriots  and 
the  Scripture  Sonnets.  I  have  promised  them  to  Flower.1 
The  first  will  do  good,  and  more  good  in  a  paper  than  in 
any  other  vehicle. 

My  thoughts  are  floating  about  in  a  most  chaotic  state. 
I  had  almost  determined  to  go  down  to  Bath,  and  stay 
two  days,  that  I  might  say  everything  I  wished.  You 
mean  to  acquaint  your  aunt  with  the  scheme  ?  As  she 
knows  it,  and  knows  that  you  know  that  she  knows  it, 
justice  cannot  require  it,  but  if  your  own  comfort  makes 
it  necessary,  by  all  means  do  it,  with  all  possible  gentle- 
ness. She  has  loved  you  tenderly ;  be  firm,  therefore,  as 
a  rock,  mild  as  the  lamb.  I  sent  a  hundred  "Robes- 
pierres  "  to  Bath  ten  days  ago  and  more. 

Five  hundred  copies  of  "  Robespierre  "  were  printed.  A 
hundred  [went]  to  Bath  ;  a  hundred  to  Kearsley,  in  Lon- 
don ;  twenty-five  to  March,  at  Norwich ;  thirty  I  have  sold 
privately  (twenty-five  of  these  thirty  to  Dyer,  who  found 
it  inconvenient  to  take  fifty).  The  rest  are  dispersed 
among  the  Cambridge  booksellers  ;  the  delicacies  of  aca- 
demic gentlemanship  prevented  me  from  disposing  of  more 
than  the  five  propria  persona.  Of  course  we  only  get 
ninepence  for  each  copy  from  the  booksellers.  I  expected 
that  Mr.  Field  would  have  sent  for  fifty,  but  have  heard 
nothing  of  it.  I  sent  a  copy  to  him,  with  my  respects, 
and  have  made  presents  of  six  more.  How  they  sell  in 
London,  I  know  not.  All  that  are  in  Cambridge  will 
sell  —  a  great  many  are  sold.  I  have  been  blamed  for 
publishing  it,  considering  the  more  important  work  I  have 
offered  to  the  public.  N'importe.  'T  is  thought  a  very 
aristocratic  performance;  you  may  suppose  how  hyper- 

1  The  Editor  of  the  Cambridge  Intelligencer. 


94  STUDENT  LIFE  [Nov. 

democratic  my  character  must  have  been.  The  expenses 
of  paper,  printing,  and  advertisements  are  nearly  nine 
pounds.  We  ought  to  have  charged  one  shilling  and  six- 
pence a  copy. 

I  presented  a  copy  to  Miss  Brunton  with  these  verses 
in  the  blank  leaf  : l  — 

Much  on  my  early  youth  I  love  to  dwell, 

Ere  yet  I  bade  that  guardian  dome  farewell, 

Where  first  beneath  the  echoing  cloisters  pale, 

I  heard  of  guilt  and  wondered  at  the  tale ! 

Yet  though  the  hours  flew  by  on  careless  wing 

Full  heavily  of  Sorrow  would  I  sing. 

Aye,  as  the  star  of  evening  flung  its  beam 

In  broken  radiance  on  the  wavy  stream, 

My  pensive  soul  amid  the  twilight  gloom 

Mourned  with  the  breeze,  O  Lee  Boo !  o'er  thy  tomb. 

Whene'er  I  wander'd,  Pity  still  was  near, 

Breath'd  from  the  heart,  and  glitter'd  in  the  tear  : 

No  knell,  that  toll'd,  but  fill'd  my  anguish' d  eye, 

"  And  suffering  Nature  wept  that  one  should  die !  " 

Thus  to  sad  sympathies  I  sooth'd  my  breast, 

Calm  as  the  rainbow  in  the  weeping  West : 

When  slumb'ring  Freedom  rous'd  by  high  Disdain 

With  giant  fury  burst  her  triple  chain! 

Fierce  on  her  front  the  blasting  Dog  star  giow'd ; 

Her  banners,  like  a  midnight  meteor,  flow'd  ; 

Amid  the  yelling  of  the  storm-rent  skies 

She  came,  and  scatter'd  battles  from  her  .eyes ! 

Then  Exultation  woke  the  patriot  fire 

And  swept  with  wilder  hand  th'  empassioned  lyre ; 

Red  from  the  Tyrants'  wounds  I  shook  the  lance, 

And  strode  in  joy  the  reeking  plains  of  France ! 

In  ghastly  horror  lie  th'  oppressors  low, 

And  my  Heart  akes  tho'  Mercy  struck  the  blow ! 

With  wearied  thought  I  seek  the  amaranth  Shade 

"  To  a  Young  Lady,  with  a  Poem  on  the  French  Revolution."    Poet- 
ical Works,  p.  6. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  95 

Where  peaceful  Virtue  weaves  her  myrtle  braid. 
And  O !  if  Eyes,  whose  holy  glances  roll 
The  eloquent  Messengers  of  the  pure  soul ; 
If  Smiles  more  cunning  and  a  gentler  Mien, 
Than  the  love-wilder'd  Maniac's  brain  hath  seen 
Shaping  celestial  forms  in  vacant  air, 
If  these  demand  the  wond'ring  Poets'  care  — 
If  Mirth  and  soften'd  Sense,  and  Wit  refin'd, 
The  blameless  features  of  a  lovely  mind ; 
Then  haply  shall  my  trembling  hand  assign 
No  fading  flowers  to  Beauty's  saintly  shrine. 
Nor,  Bruntoh  !  thou  the  blushing  Wreath  refuse, 
Though  harsh  her  notes,  yet  guileless  is  my  Muse. 
Unwont  at  Flattery's  Voice  to  plume  her  wings. 
A  child  of  Nature,  as  she  feels,  she  sings. 

S.  T.  C. 
JES.  COLL.,  CAMBRIDGE. 

Till  I  dated  this  letter  I  never  recollected  that  yesterday 
was  my  birthday  —  twenty-two  years  old. 

I  have  heard  from  my  brothers  —  from  him  particularly 
who  has  been  friend,  brother,  father.     'T  was  all  remon-KX 
strance  and  anguish,  and  suggestions  that  I  am  deranged ! . 
Let  me  receive  from  you  a  letter  of    consolation ;  for, 
believe  me,  I  am  completely  wretched. 

Yours  most  affectionately, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XXXVIII.     TO   ROBERT   SOUTHEY. 

November,  1794. 

My  feeble  and  exhausted  heart  regards  with  a  criminal 
indifference  the  introduction  of  servitude  into  our  society ; 
but  my  judgment  is  not  asleep,  nor  can  I  suffer  your  rea- 
son, Southey,  to  be  entangled  in  the  web  which  your  feel- 
ings have  woven.  Oxen  and  horses  possess  not  intellec- 
tual appetites,  nor  the  powers  of  acquiring  them.  We  are 
therefore  justified  in  employing  their  labour  to  our  own 
benefit :  mind  hath  a  divine  right  of  sovereignty  over  body. 


96  STUDENT  LIFE  [Nov. 

But  who  shall  dare  to  transfer  "  from  man  to  brute  "  to 
"  from  man  to  man  "  ?  To  be  employed  in  the  toil  of  the 
field,  while  we  are  pursuing  philosophical  studies  —  can 
earldoms  or  emperorships  boast  so  huge  an  inequality  ?  Is 
there  a  human  being  of  so  torpid  a  nature  as  that  placed 
in  our  society  he  would  not  feel  it  ?  A  willing  slave  is 
the  worst  of  slaves !  His  soul  is  a  slave.  Besides,  I  must 
own  myself  incapable  of  perceiving  even  the  temporary 
convenience  of  the  proposed  innovation.  The  men  do  not 
want  assistance,  at  least  none  that  /Shad  can  particularly 
give ;  and  to  the  women,  what  assistance  can  little  Sally, 
the  wife  of  Shad,  give  more  than  any  other  of  our  married 
women  ?  Is  she  to  have  no  domestic  cares  of  her  own  ? 
No  house?  No  husband  to  provide  for?  No  children? 
Because  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roberts  are  not  likely  to  have 
children,  I  see  less  objection  to  their  accompanying  us. 
Indeed,  indeed,  Southey,  I  am  fearful  that  Lushington's 
prophecy  may  not  be  altogether  vain.  "Your  system, 
Coleridge,  appears  strong  to  the  head  and  lovely  to  the 
heart ;  but  depend  upon  it,  you  will  never  give  your  women 
sufficient  strength  of  mind,  liberality  of  heart,  or  vigilance 
of  attention.  They  will  spoil  it." 

I  am  extremely  unwell ;  have  run  a  nail  into  my  heel, 
and  before  me  stand  "  Embrocation  for  the  throbbing  of 
the  head,"  "  To  be  shaked  up  well  that  the  ether  may 
mix,"  "  A  wineglass  full  to  be  taken  when  faint."  'Sdeath ! 
how  I  hate  the  labels  of  apothecary's  bottles.  Ill  as  I 
am,  I  must  go  out  to  supper.  Farewell  for  a  few  hours. 

'T  is  past  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  sat  down  at 
twelve  o'clock  to  read  the  "  Robbers  "  of  Schiller.1  I  had 
read,  chill  and  trembling,  when  I  came  to  the  part  where 
the  Moor  fixes  a  pistol  over  the  robbers  who  are  asleep. 
I  could  read  no  more.  My  God,  Southey,  who  is  this 
Schiller,  this  convulser  of  the  heart?  Did  he  write  his 
tragedy  amid  the  yelling  of  fiends  ?  I  should  not  like  to  be 

1  Compare  "  Sonnet  to  the  Author  of  The  Robbers."  Poetical  Works, 
p.  34 


1794] 


TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY 


97 


able  to  describe  such  characters.  I  tremble  like  an  aspen 
leaf.  Upon  my  soul,  I  write  to  you  because  I  am  fright- 
ened. I  had  better  go  to  bed.  Why  have  we  ever  called 
Milton  sublime  ?  that  Count  de  Moor  horrible  wielder 
of  heart-withering  virtues?  Satan  is  scarcely  qualified  to 
attend  his  execution  as  gallows  chaplain. 

Tuesday  morning.  —  I  have  received  your  letter.  Pot- 
ter of  Emanuel1  drives  me  up  to  town  in  his  phaeton  on 
Saturday  morning.  I  hope  to  be  with  you  by  Wednesday 
week.  Potter  is  a  "  Son  of  Soul "  —  a  poet  of  liberal  sen- 
timents in  politics  —  yet  (would  you  believe  it  ?)  possesses 
six  thousand  a  year  independent. 

I  feel  grateful  to  you  for  your  sympathy.  There  is  a 
feverish  distemperature  of  brain,  during  which  some  hor- 
rible phantom  threatens  our  eyes  in  every  corner,  until, 
emboldened  by  terror,  we  rush  on  it,  and  then  —  why  then 
we  return,  the  heart  indignant  at  its  own  palpitation! 
so  will  the  greater  part  of  our  mental  miseries  van- 
ish before  an  effort.  Whatever  of  mind  we  will  to  do,  we 
can  do  !  What,  then,  palsies  the  will  ?  The  joy  of  grief. 
A  mysterious  pleasure  broods  with  dusky  wings  over  the 
tumultuous  mind,  "  and  the  Spirit  of  God  moveth  on  the 
darkness  of  the  waters."  She  was  very  lovely,  Southey ! 
We  formed  each  other's  minds ;  our  ideas  were  blended. 
Heaven  bless  her  !  I  cannot  forget  her.  Every  day  her 
memory  sinks  deeper  into  my  heart. 

1  The  date  of  this  letter  is  fixed  to  Mary  Evans,  which  must  have 
by  that  of  Thursday,  November  6, 
to  George  Coleridge.  Both  letters 
speak  of  a  journey  to  town  with  Pot- 
ter of  Emanuel,  but  in  writing  to  his 
brother  he  says  nothing  of  a  pro- 
jected visit  to  Bath.  There  is  no 
hint  in  either  letter  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  Uni- 
versity for  good  and  all.  In  a  lette*r 
to  Southey  dated  December  17,  he 
says  that  "  they  are  making  a  row 
about  him  at  Jesus,"  and  in  a  letter 


been  written  a  day  or  two  later,  he 
says,  "  I  return  to  Cambridge  to- 
morrow." From  the  date  of  the  let- 
ter to  George  Coleridge  of  Novem- 
ber 6  to  December  11  there  is  a 
break  in  the  correspondence  with 
Southey,  but  from  a  statement  in 
Letter  XLIII.  it  appears  plain  that 
a  visit  was  paid  to  the  West  in  De- 
cember, 1794.  B\it  whether  he  re- 
turned to  Cambridge  November  8, 
and  for  how  long,  is  uncertain. 


98  STUDENT  LIFE  [Nov. 

Nutrito  vulnere  tabens 

Impatiensque  mei  feror  undique,  solus  et  excors, 
Et  desideriis  pascor ! 

I  wish,  Southey,  in  the  stern  severity  of  judgment,  that 
the  two  mothers  were  not  to  go,  and  that  the  children 
stayed  with  them.  Are  you  wounded  by  my  want  of  feel- 
ing ?  No !  how  highly  must  I  think  of  your  rectitude  of 
soul,  that  I  should  dare  to  say  this  to  so  affectionate  a  son  ! 
That  Mrs.  Fricker !  We  shall  have  her  teaching  the  in- 
fants Christianity,  —  I  mean,  that  mongrel  whelp  that 
goes  under  its  name,  —  teaching  them  by  stealth  in  some 
ague  fit  of  superstition. 

There  is  little  danger  of  my  being  confined.  Advice 
offered  with  respect  from  a  brother ;  affected  coldness,  an 
assumed  alienation  mixed  with  involuntary  bursts  of  an- 
guish and  disappointed  affection;  questions  concerning 
the  mode  in  which  I  would  have  it  mentioned  to  my  aged 
mother  —  these  are  the  daggers  which  are  plunged  into 
my  peace.  Enough !  I  should  rather  be  offering  conso- 
lation to  your  sorrows  than  be  wasting  my  feelings  in  ego- 
tistic complaints.  "  Verily  my  complaint  is  bitter,  yet  my 
stroke  is  heavier  than  my  groaning." 

God  love  you,  my  dear  Southey ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

A  friend  of  mine  hath  lately  departed  this  life  in  a 
frenzy  fever  induced  by  anxiety.  Poor  fellow,  a  child 
of  frailty  like  me !  Yet  he  was  amiable.  I  poured  forth 
these  incondite  lines 1  in  a  moment  of  melancholy  dissatis- 
faction :  — 

thy  grave  with  aching  eye  I  scan, 


And  inly  groan  for  Heaven's  poor  outcast  —  Man ! 

'T  is  tempest  all,  or  gloom !     In  earliest  youth 

• 

"Lines  on  a  Friend  who  died     poem  was  sent  on  November  6  to 
of  a  Frenzy  Fever,"  etc.     Poetical    George  Coleridge. 
Works,  p.  35.     A  copy  of  the  same 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  99 

If  gifted  with  th'  Ithuriel  lance  of  Truth 

He  force  to  start  amid  the  feign 'd  caress 

Vice,  siren-hag,  in  native  ugliness ; 

A  brother's  fate  shall  haply  rouse  the  tear, 

And  on  he  goes  in  heaviness  and  fear ! 

But  if  his  fond  heart  call  to  Pleasure's  bower 

Some  pigmy  Folly  in  a  careless  hour, 

The  faithless  Guest  quick  stamps  th'  enchanted  ground, 

And  mingled  forms  of  Misery  threaten  round : 

Heart-fretting  Fear,  with  pallid  look  aghast, 

That  courts  the  future  woe  to  hide  the  past ; 

Remorse,  the  poison'd  arrow  in  his  side, 

And  loud  lewd  Mirth  to  Anguish  close  allied ; 

Till  Frenzy,  frantic  child  of  moping  Pain, 

Darts  her  hot  lightning-flash  athwart  the  brain  ! 

Rest,  injur'd  Shade !  shall  Slander,  squatting  near, 

Spit  her  cold  venom  in  a  dead  man's  ear  ? 

'T  was  thine  to  feel  the  sympathetic  glow 

In  Merit's  joy  and  Poverty's  meek  woe  : 

Thine  all  that  cheer  the  moment  as  it  flies, 

The  zoneless  Cares  and  smiling  Courtesies. 

Nurs'd  in  thy  heart  the  generous  Virtues  grew, 

And  in  thy  heart  they  wither'd !  such  chill  dew 

Wan  Indolence  on  each  young  blossom  shed  ; 

And  Vanity  her  filmy  network  spread, 

With  eye  that  prowl'd  around  in  asking  gaze, 

And  tongue  that  trafficked  in  the  trade  of  praise ! 

Thy  follies  such  the  hard  world  mark'd  them  well. 

Were  they  more  wise,  the  proud  who  never  fell  ? 

Rest,  injur'd  Shade  !  the  poor  man's  grateful  prayer, 

On  heavenward  wing,  thy  wounded  soul  shall  bear ! 

As  oft  in  Fancy's  thought  thy  grave  I  pass, 
And  sit  me  down  upon  its  recent  grass, 
With  introverted  eye  I  contemplate 
Similitude  of  soul  —  perhaps  of  fate  ! 
To  me  hath  Heaven  with  liberal  hand  assign'd 
Energic  reason  and  a  shaping  mind, 


100  STUDENT  LIFE  [Nov. 

The  daring  soul  of  Truth,  the  patriot's  part, 
And  Pity's  sigh,  that  breathes  the  gentle  heart  — 
Sloth-jaundiced  all !  and  from  my  graspless  hand 
Drop  Friendship's  precious  pearls,  like  hour-glass  sand. 
I  weep,  yet  stoop  not !  the  faint  anguish  flows, 
A  dreamy  pang  in  Morning's  fev'rish  doze ! 

Is  that  pil'd  earth  our  Being's  passless  mound  ? 

Tell  me,  cold  Grave !  is  Death  with  poppies  crown'd  ? 

Tir'd  Sentinel !  with  fitful  starts  I  nod, 

And  fain  would  sleep,  though  pillow'd  on  a  clod  ! 

SONG. 

When  Youth  his  fairy  reign  began l 
Ere  Sorrow  had  proclaim'd  me  Man ; 
While  Peace  the  present  hour  beguil'd, 
And  all  the  lovely  Prospect  smil'd ; 
Then,  Mary,  mid  my  lightsome  glee 
I  heav'd  the  painless  Sigh  for  thee ! 

And  when,  along  the  wilds  of  woe 
My  harass'd  Heart  was  doom'd  to  know 
The  frantic  burst  of  Outrage  keen, 
And  the  slow  Pang  that  gnaws  unseen ; 
Then  shipwreck'd  on  Life's  stormy  sea 
I  heav'd  an  anguish'd  Sigh  for  thee  ! 

But  soon  Reflection's  hand  imprest 
A  stiller  sadness  on  my  breast ; 
And  sickly  Hope  with  waning  eye 
Was  well  content  to  droop  and  die  : 
I  yielded  to  the  stern  decree, 
Yet  heav'd  the  languid  Sigh  for  thee ! 

And  though  in  distant  climes  to  roam, 
A  wanderer  from  my  native  home, 
I  fain  would  woo  a  gentle  Fair 

1  "The  Sigh."    Poetical  Works,  p.  29. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  101 

To  soothe  the  aching  sense  of  care, 
Thy  Image  may  not  banish'd  be  — 
Still,  Mary  !  still  I  sigh  for  thee ! 

S.  T.  C. 
God  love  you. 

XXXIX.     TO  THE   SAME. 

Autumn,  1794. 

Last  night,  dear  Southey,  I  received  a  special  invitation 
from  Dr.  Edwards  1  (the  great  Grecian  of  Cambridge  and 
heterodox  divine)  to  drink  tea  and  spend  the  evening.  I 
there  met  a  councillor  whose  name  is  Lushington,  a  dem- 
ocrat, and  a  man  of  the  most  powerful  and  Briarean  intel- 
lect. I  was  challenged  on  the  subject  of  pantisocracy, 
which  is,  indeed,  the  universal  topic  at  the  University.  A 
discussion  began  and  continued  for  six  hours.  In  conclu- 
sion, Lushington  and  Edwards  declared  the  system  im- 
pregnable, supposing  the  assigned  quantum  of  virtue  and 
genius  in  the  first  individuals.  I  came  home  at  one  o'clock 
this  morning  in  the  honest  consciousness  of  having  exhib- 
ited closer  argument  in  more  elegant  and  appropriate  lan- 
guage than  I  had  ever  conceived  myself  capable  of.  Then 
my  heart  smote  me,  for  I  saw  your  letter  on  the  propriety 
of  taking  servants  with  us.  I  had  answered  that  letter, 
and  feel  conviction  that  you  will  perceive  the  error  into 
which  the  tenderness  of  your  nature  had  led  you.  But 
other  queries  obtruded  themselves  on  my  understanding. 
The  more  perfect  our  system  is,  supposing  the  necessary 
premises,  the  more  eager  in  anxiety  am  I  that  the  neces- 
sary premises  exist.  O  for  that  Lyncean  eye  that  can  dis- 
cover in  the  acorn  of  Error  the  rooted  and  widely  spread- 
ing oak  of  Misery  !  Quaere  :  should  not  all  who  mean  to 

1  Probably      Thomas     Edwards,  on  the  Limits  and  Importance  of  Free 

LL.  D.,  a  Fellow  of  Jesus  College,  Inquiry    in    Matters   of    Religion," 

Cambridge,  editor  of  Plutarch,  De  1792.      Natural  Dictionary  of  Bio- 

Educatione    Liberorum,  with    notes,  graphy,  xvii.  130. 
1791,  and  author  of  "  A  Discourse 


102  STUDENT  LIFE  [Nov. 

become  members  of  our  community  be  incessantly  melior- 
ating their  temper  and  elevating  their  understandings  ? 
Qu. :  whether  a  very  respectable  quantity  of  acquired 
knowledge  (History,  Politics,  above  all,  Metaphysics,  with- 
out which  no  man  can  reason  but  with  women  and  chil- 
dren) be  not  a  prerequisite  to  the  improvement  of  the  head 
and  heart  ?  Qu. :  whether  our  Women  have  not  been 
taught  by  us  habitually  to  contemplate  the  littleness  of 
individual  comforts  and  a  passion  for  the  novelty  of  the 
scheme  rather  than  a  generous  enthusiasm  of  Benevolence  ? 
Are  they  saturated  with  the  Divinity  of  Truth  sufficiently 
to  be  always  wakeful  ?  In  the  present  state  of  their  minds, 
whether  it  is  not  probable  that  the  Mothers  will  tinge  the 
minds  of  the  infants  with  prejudication  ?  The  questions 
are  meant  merely  as  motives  to  you,  Southey,  to  the 
strengthening  the  minds  of  the  Women,  and  stimulating 
them  to  literary  acquirements.  But,  Southey,  there  are 
Children  going  with  us.  Why  did  I  never  dare  in  my 
disputations  with  the  unconvinced  to  hint  at  this  circum- 
stance ?  Was  it  not  because  I  knew,  even  to  certainty  of 
conviction,  that  it  is  subversive  of  rational  hopes  of  a  per- 
manent system  ?  These  children,  —  the  little  Frickers,  for 
instance,  and  your  brothers,  —  are  they  not  already  deeply 
tinged  with  the  prejudices  and  errors  of  society  ?  Have 
they  not  learned  from  their  schoolfellows  Fear  and  Self- 
ishness, of  which  the  necessary  offsprings  are  Deceit  and 
desultory  Hatred  ?  How  are  we  to  prevent  them  from  in- 
fecting the  minds  of  our  children  ?  By  reforming  their 
judgments  ?  At  so  early  an  age,  can  they  have  felt  the 
ill  consequences  of  their  errors  in  a  manner  sufficiently 
vivid  to  make  this  reformation  practicable  ?  How  can  we 
insure  their  silence  concerning  God,  etc.?  Is  it  possible 
they  should  enter  into  our  motives  for  this  silence  ?  If  not, 
we  must  produce  their  Obedience  by  Terror.  Obedience  ? 
Terror  ?  The  repetition  is  sufficient.  I  need  not  inform 
you  that  they  are  as  inadequate  as  inapplicable.  I  have  told 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  103 

you,  Southey,  that  I  will  accompany  you  on  an  imperfect 
system.  But  must  our  system  be  thus  necessarily  imper- 
fect ?  I  ask  the  question  that  I  may  know  whether  or  not 
I  should  write  the  Book  of  Pantisocracy. 

I  received  your  letter  of  Oyez ;  it  brought  a  smile  on  a 
countenance  that  for  these  three  weeks  has  been  cloudy 
and  stern  in  its  solitary  hours.  In  company,  wit  and 
laughter  are  Duties.  Slovenly  ?  I  could  mention  a  lady 
of  fashionable  rank,  and  most  fashionable  ideas,  who  de- 
clared to  Caldwell  that  I  (S.  T.  Coleridge)  was  a  man  of 
the  most  courtly  and  polished  manners,  of  the  most  gen- 
tlemanly address  she  had  ever  met  with.  But  I  will  not 
crow!  Slovenly,  indeed! 

XL.    TO   THE   EEV.   GEORGE   COLERIDGE. 

Thursday,  November  6,  1794. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  Your  letter  of  this  morning 
gave  me  inexpressible  consolation.  I  thought  that  I 
perceived  in  your  last  the  cold  and  freezing  features  of 
alienated  affection.  Surely,  said  I,  I  have  trifled  with 
the  spirit  of  love,  and  it  has  passed  away  from  me ! 
There  is  a  vice  of  such  powerful  venom,  that  one  grain  of 
it  will  poison  the  overflowing  goblet  of  a  thousand  virtues. 
This  vice  constitution  seems  to  have  implanted  in  me,  and 
habit  has  made  it  almost  Omnipotent.  It  is  indolence  ! J 
Hence,  whatever  web  of  friendship  my  presence  may  have 
woven,  my  absence  has  seldom  failed  to  unravel.  Anxie- 
ties that  stimulate  others  infuse  an  additional  narcotic 
into  my  mind.  The  appeal  of  duty  to  my  judgment,  and 
the  pleadings  of  affection  at  my  heart,  have  been  heard 
indeed,  and  heard  with  deep  regard.  Ah !  that  they  had 

1  Compare  ' '  Lines  on  a  Friend," 

etc.,  which  accompanied  this  letter.       Sloth-jaundiced  all !  and  from  my  grasp- 

less  hand 
To  me  hath  Heaven    with   liberal   hand     Dr°P    Friendship's    precious    pearls,  like 

assigned  hour-glass  sand. 

Energic  reason  and  a  shaping  mind,  Poetical  Works,  p.  35. 


104  STUDENT  LIFE  [Nov. 

been  as  constantly  obeyed.  But  so  it  has  been.  Like 
some  poor  labourer,  whose  night's  sleep  has  but  imperfectly 
refreshed  his  overwearied  frame,  I  have  sate  in  drowsy 
uneasiness,  and  doing  nothing  have  thought  what  a  deal 
I  had  to  do.  But  I  trust  that  the  kingdom  of  reason  is 
at  hand,  and  even  now  cometh  ! 

How  often  and  how  unkindly  are  the  ebullitions  of 
youthful  disputations  mistaken  for  the  result  of  fixed 
principles.  People  have  resolved  that  I  am  a  democrat, 
and  accordingly  look  at  everything  I  do  through  the 
spectacles  of  prejudication.  In  the  feverish  distempera- 
ture  of  a  bigoted  aristocrat's  brain,  some  phantom  of 
Democracy  threatens  him  in  every  corner  of  my  writings. 

And  Hubert's  atheist  crew,  whose  maddening  hand 
Hurl'd  down  the  altars  of  the  living  God 
With  all  the  infidel  intolerance.1 

"  Are  these  lines  in  character"  observed  a  sensible 
friend  of  mine,  "  in  a  speech  on  the  death  of  the  man 
whom  it  just  became  the  fashion  to  style  '  The  ambitious 
Theocrat '  ?  "  "  I  fear  not"  was  my  answer,  "  I  gave  way 
to  my  feelings."  The  first  speech  of  Adelaide,2  whose 
Automaton  is  this  character?  Who  spoke  through  Le 
Gendre's  mouth,3  when  he  says,  "  Oh,  what  a  precious 
name  is  Liberty  To  scare  or  cheat  the  simple  into 
slaves "  ?  But  in  several  parts  I  have,  it  seems,  in  the 
strongest  language  boasted  the  impossibility  of  subdu- 
ing France.  Is  not  this  sentiment  highly  characteristic  ? 
Is  it  forced  into  the  mouths  of  the  speakers  ?  Could  I 

1  The    lines    occur    in    Barrere's     We  've  bought  the  seeming  good !    The 
speech,  which  concludes   the   third  peaceful  virtues 

act   of  the  "Fall  of  Kobespierre. »     ^d  fery  Blandishment  of  private  life, 

Poetical  Works,  p.  225.  The  f"Jher  "  T'  the  m°ther'a  fond  en' 

'  r  dearment 

"  Fall  of  Robespierre,"   Act  I.     All  sacrificed  to  Liberty's  wild  riot. 

Poetical  Works,  p.  215. 
8  See  "Fall  of  Robespierre,"  Act 
O  this  new  freedom !  at  how  dear  a  price        1. 1.  40.     Poetical  Works,  p.  212. 


1794]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  105 

have  even  omitted  it  without  evident  absurdity?  But, 
granted  that  it  is  my  own  opinion,  is  it  an  anti-pacific  one  ? 
I  should  have  classed  it  among  the  anti-polemics.  Again, 
are  all  who  entertain  and  express  this  opinion  democrats  ? 
God  forbid  !  They  would  be  a  formidable  party  indeed ! 
I  know  many  violent  anti-reformists,  who  are  as  violent 
against  the  war  on  the  ground  that  it  may  introduce  that 
reform,  which  they  (perhaps  not  unwisely)  imagine  would 
chant  the  dirge  of  our  constitution.  Solemnly,  my  brother, 
!  I  tell  you,  I  am  not  a  democrat.  I  see,  evidently,  that  the 
present  is  not  the  highest  state  of  society  of  which  we  are 
capable.  And  after  a  diligent,  I  may  say  an  intense,  study 
of  Locke,  Hartley,  and  others  who  have  written  most  wisely 
on  the  nature  of  man,  I  appear  to  myself  to  see  the  point 
of  possible  perfection,  at  which  the  world  may  perhaps  be 
destined  to  arrive.  But  how  to  lead  mankind  from  one 
point  to  the  other  is  a  process  of  such  infinite  complex- 
ity, that  in  deep-felt  humility  I  resign  it  to  that  Being 
"  Who  shaketh  the  Earth  out  of  her  place,  and  the  pillars 
thereof  tremble,"  "  Who  purifieth  with  Whirlwinds,  and 
maketh  the  Pestilence  his  Besom,"  Who  hath  said,  "  that 
violence  shall  no  more  be  heard  of  ;  the  people  shall  not 
build  and  another  inhabit;  they  shall  not  plant  and 
another  eat ;  "  "  the  wolf  and  the  lamb  shall  feed  together." 
I  have  been  asked  what  is  the  best  conceivable  mode  of 
meliorating  society.  My  answer  has  been  this  :  "  Slavery 
is  an  abomination  to  my  feeling  of  the  head  and  the  heart. 
Did  Jesus  teach  the  abolition  of  it  ?  No !  He  taught 
those  principles  of  which  the  necessary  effect  was  to 
abolish  all  slavery.  He  prepared  the  mind  for  the  recep- 
tion before  he  poured  the  blessing."  You  ask  me  what 
the  friend  of  universal  equality  should  do.  I  answer  : 
"  Talk  not  politics.  Preach  the  Gospel  !  " 

Yea,  my  brother !  I  have  at  all  times  in  all  places  ex- 
erted my  power  in  the  defence  of  the  Holy  One  of  Nazareth 
against  the  learning  of  the  historian,  the  libertinism  of 


106  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

the  wit,  and  (his  worst  enemy)  the  mystery  of  the  bigot ! 
But  I  am  an  infidel,  because  I  cannot  thrust  my  head 
into  a  mud  gutter,  and  say,  "  How  deep  I  am !  "  And 
I  am  a  democrat,  because  I  will  not  join  in  the  male- 
dictions of  the  despotist  —  because  I  will  bless  all  men 
and  curse  no  one  !  I  have  been  a  fool  even  to  madness  ; 
and  I  am,  therefore,  an  excellent  hit  for  calumny  to  aim 
her  poisoned  probabilities  at!  As  the  poor  flutterer, 
who  by  hard  struggling  has  escaped  from  the  bird-limed 
thornbush,  still  bears  the  clammy  incumbrance  on  his  feet 
and  wings,  so  I  am  doomed  to  carry  about  with  me  the 
sad  mementos  of  past  imprudence  and  anguish  from 
which  I  have  been  imperfectly  released. 

Mr.  Potter  of  Emanuel  drives  me  up  to  town  in  his 
phaeton,  on  Saturday  morning.  Of  course  I  shall  see  you 
on  Sunday.  Poor  Smerdon !  the  reports  concerning  his 
literary  plagiarism  (as  far  as  concerns  my  assistance)  are 
falsehoods.  I  have  felt  much  for  him,  and  on  the  morn- 
ing I  received  your  letter  I  poured  forth  these  incondite 
rhymes.  Of  course  they  are  meant  for  a  brother's  eye. 

Smerdon !  thy  grave  with  aching  eye  I  scan,  etc.1 

God  love  you,  dear  brother,  and  your  affectionate  and 
grateful 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XLI.      TO   ROBERT   SOUTHEY. 

December  11, 1794. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  sit  down  to  write  to  you,  not 
that  I  have  anything  particular  to  say,  but  it  is  a  relief, 
and  forms  a  very  respectable  part  in  my  theory  of  "  Es- 
capes from  the  Folly  of  Melancholy."  I  am  so  habituated 
to  philosophizing  that  I  cannot  divest  myself  of  it,  even 
when  my  own  wretchedness  is  the  subject.  I  appear  to 

1  For  full  text  of  the  "Lines  on    ver,"  See  Letter  XXXVIII.    See, 
a  Friend  who  died  of  a  Frenzy  Fe-     too,  Poetical  Works,  p.  35. 


1794] 


TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY 


107 


myself  like  a  sick  physician,  feeling  the  pang  acutely,  yet 
deriving  a  wonted  pleasure  from  examining  its  progress 
and  developing  its  causes. 

Your  poems  and  Bowies'  are  my  only  morning  com- 
panions. "  The  Retrospect !  " 1  Quod  qui  non  prorsus 
amat  et  deperit,  ilium  omnes  et  virtutes  et  veneres  odere  ! 
It  is  a  most  lovely  poem,  and  in  the  next  edition  of  your 
works  shall  be  a  perfect  one.  The  "  Ode  to  Romance  "  2 


1  Southey's  Poetical  Works,  1837, 
ii.  263. 

2  See  Poems  by  Robert  Lovell,  and 
Robert    Southey  of  Balliol  College. 
Bath.  Printed  by  A.  Cruttwell,  1795, 
p.  17.     "  Ode  to  Lycon,"  p.  77. 

The  last  stanza  runs  thus :  — 

Wilt  thou  float  careless  down  the  stream 

of  time, 

In  sadness  borne  to  dull  oblivious  shore, 
Or  shake  off  grief,  and  "  build  the  lofty 

rhyme," 

And  live  till  time  shall  be  no  more  ? 
If  thy  light  bark  have  met  the  storms, 

If  threatening  cloud   the  sky  deforms, 
Let  honest  truth  be  vain ;   look  back  on 

me, 

Have  I  been  "  sailing  on  a  Summer  sea  "  ? 
Have  only  zephyrs  flll'd  my  swelling  sails, 
As    smooth    the    gentle    vessel    glides 

along  ? 
Lycon  !  I  met  unscar'd  the  wintry  gales, 

And  sooth'd  the  dangers  with  the  song : 
So  shall  the  vessel  sail  sublime, 
And  reach  the  port  of  fame  adown  the 
stream  of  time. 

BION  [«.  e.  R.  S.]. 

Compare  the  following  unpub- 
lished letter  from  Southey  to  Miss 
Sarah  Fricker :  — 

October  18,  1794. 

"  Amid  the  pelting  of  the  pitiless 
stoym "  did  I.  Robert  Southey,  the 
Apostle  of  Pantisocracy,  depart 
from  the  city  of  Bristol,  my  natal 
place  —  at  the  hour  of  five  in  a  wet 
windy  evening  on  the  17th  of  October, 


1794,  wrapped  up  in  my  father's  old 
great  coat  and  my  own  cogitations. 
Like  old  Lear  I  did  not  call  the  ele- 
ments unkind,  —  and  on  I  passed, 
musing  on  the  lamentable  effects  of 
pride  and  prejudice  —  retracing  all 
the  events  of  my  past  life  —  and 
looking  forward  to  the  days  to  come 
with  pleasure. 

Three  miles  from  Bristol,  an  old 
man  of  sixty,  most  royally  drunk, 
laid  hold  of  my  arm,  and  begged  we 
might  join  company,  as  he  was 
going  to  Bath.  I  consented,  for  he 
wanted  assistance,  and  dragged  this 
foul  animal  through  the  dirt,  wind, 
and  rain !  .  .  . 

Think  of  me,  with  a  mind  so 
fully  occupied,  leading  this  man 
nine  miles,  and  had  I  not  led  him 
he  would  have  lain  down  under  a 
hedge  and  probably  perished. 

I  reached  not  Bath  till  nine 
o'clock,  when  the  rain  pelted  me 
most  unmercifully  in  the  face.  I  re- 
joiced that  my  friends  at  Bath  knew 
not  where  I  was,  and  was  once 
vexed  at  thinking  that  you  would 
hear  it  drive  against  the  window 
and  be  sorry  for  the  way-worn  trav- 
eller. Here  I  am,  well,  and  satisfied 
with  my  own  conduct.  .  .  . 

My  clothes  are  arrived.  "  I  will 
never  see  his  face  again  [writes  Miss 


108  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

is  the  best  of  the  odes.  I  dislike  that  to  Lycon,  except- 
ing the  last  stanza,  which  is  superlatively  fine.  The 
phrase  of  "let  honest  truth  be  vain"  is  obscure.  Of 
your  blank  verse  odes,  "  The  Death  of  Mattathias  "  1  is  by 
far  the  best.  That  you  should  ever  write  another,  Pul- 
cher  Apollo  veta !  Musce  prohibete  venustce  !  They 
are  to  poetry  what  dumb-bells  are  to  music ;  they  can  be 
read  only  for  exercise,  or  to  make  a  man  tired  that  he 
may  be  sleepy.  The  sonnets  are  wonderfully  inferior  to 
those  which  I  possess  of  yours,  of  ivhich  that  "  To  Valen- 
tine " 2  ("  If  long  and  lingering  seem  one  little  day  The 
motley  crew  of  travellers  among  ")  ;  that  on  "  The  Fire  "  3 
(not  your  last,  a  very  so-so  one)  ;  on  "  The  Rainbow  "  4 
(particularly  the  four  last  lines),  and  two  or  three  others, 
are  all  divine  and  fully  equal  to  Bowles.  Some  parts  of 
"Miss  Rosamund  "  6  are  beautiful  —  the  working  scene, 
and  that  line  with  which  the  poem  ought  to  have  con- 
cluded, "  And  think  who  lies  so  cold  and  pale  below." 
Of  the  "  Pauper's  Funeral,"  6  that  part  in  which  you  have 
done  me  the  honour  to  imitate  me  is  by  far  the  worst ;  the 

Tyler],  and,  if  he  writes,  will  return  Southey's  Life  and   Correspondence, 

his  letters  unopened ;  "  to  comment  i.  222. 

on  this  would  he   useless.     I  feel  J  Poems,  1795,  p.  123. 

that  strong  conviction  of  rectitude  2  See   Southey's  Poetical  Works, 

which  would  make  me  smile  on  the  1837,  ii.  91 :  — 

rack The  crisis  is  over  —  things  «'  if  heavily  creep  on  one  little  day, 

are  as  they  should  he;  my  mother  The  medley  crew  of  travellers  among." 

vexes  herself  much,  yet  feels  she  is  s  poems>  1795  p  67 

right.      Hostilities  are  commenced  4  Poeticai  W^  ^  ».  92 

mth  America!    so  we  must  go  to  5  »Rosamund  to  H             ^tten 

some    neutral    f ort  -  Hambro'    or  after    she    had    taken     ^    ^,, 

Ve"lce>  Poems,  1795,  p.  85. 

Your  sister  is  well,  and  sends  her  e  Poetical  Workg,    1837,  ii.   216. 

love  to  all;  on  Wednesday  I  hope  Sonthey  appears  to  have  accepted 

to  see  you.     Till  then  farewell,  Coleridge's  emendations.    Thevaria- 

KOBERT  SOUTHED  tions  between  the  text  of  the  "  Pau- 

ith,  Sunday  morning.  ^  Funeral  „  and  the  edMo  puf_ 

Compare,  also,  letter  to  Thomas     **?    °f  *h?   lettar  ™   8Ught  and 
Southey,  dated   October   19,   1794.     unimP°rtant' 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  109 

thought  has  been  so  much  better  expressed  by  Gray.     On  /I 
the  whole   (like  many  of  yours),  it  wants  compactness  1 1 
and  totality ;  the  same  thought  is  repeated  too  frequently 
in  different  words.     That  all  these  faults  may  be  reme- 
died by  compression,  my  editio  purgata  of   the  poem 
shall  show  you. 

What !  and  not  one  to  heave  the  pious  sigh  ? 

Not  one  whose  sorrow-swoln  and  aching  eye, 

For  social  scenes,  for  life's  endearments  fled, 

Shall  drop  a  tear  and  dwell  upon  the  dead  ? 

Poor  wretched  Outcast !     I  will  sigh  for  thee, 

And  sorrow  for  forlorn  humanity  ! 

Yes,  I  will  sigh !  but  not  that  thou  art  come 

To  the  stern  Sabbath  of  the  silent  tomb  : 

For  squalid  Want  and  the  black  scorpion  Care, 

(Heart-withering  fiends)  shall  never  enter  there. 

I  sorrow  for  the  ills  thy  life  has  known, 

As  through  the  world's  long  pilgrimage,  alone, 

Haunted  by  Poverty  and  woe-begone, 

Unloved,  unfriended,  thou  didst  journey  on  ; 

Thy  youth  in  ignorance  and  labour  past, 

And  thy  old  age  all  barrenness  and  blast ! 

Hard  was  thy  fate,  which,  while  it  doom'd  to  woe, 

Denied  thee  wisdom  to  support  the  blow ; 

And  robb'd  of  all  its  energy  thy  mind, 

Ere  yet  it  cast  thee  on  thy  fellow-kind, 

Abject  of  thought,  the  victim  of  distress, 

To  wander  in  the  world's  wide  wilderness. 

Poor  Outcast !  sleep  in  peace  !     The  winter's  storm 

Blows  bleak  no  more  on  thy  unsheltered  form  ! 

Thy  woes  are  past ;  thou  restest  in  the  tomb  ;  — <• 

I  pause  .  .  .  and  ponder  on  the  days  to  come. 

Now  !     Is  it  not  a  beautiful  poem  ?     Of  the  sonnet, 
"  No  more  the  visionary  soul  shall  dwell,"  J  I  wrote  the 

1  In  a  letter  from  Southey  to  his  our  emigration  "  is  attributed  to  Fa- 
brother  Thomas,  dated  October  21,  veil,  a  convert  to  pantisocracy  who 
1794,  this  sonnet  "  on  the  subject  of  was  still  at  Christ's  Hospital.  The 


110  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

whole  but  the  second  and  third  lines.  Of  the  "  Old  Man 
in  the  Snow,"  l  ten  last  lines  entirely,  and  part  of  the 
four  first.  Those  ten  lines  are,  perhaps,  the  best  I  ever 
did  write. 

Lovell  has  no  taste  or  simplicity  of  feeling.  I  remarked 
that  when  a  man  read  Lovell's  poems  he  mus  cus  (that  is 
a  rapid  way  of  pronouncing  "must  curse "),  but  when  he 
thought  of  Southey's,  he  'd  "  buy  on  !  "  For  God's  sake 
let  us  have  no  more  Bions  or  Gracchus's.  I  abominate 
them  !  Southey  is  a  name  much  more  proper  and  hand- 
some, and,  I  venture  to  prophesy,  will  be  more  famous. 
Your  "  Chapel  Bell "  2  I  love,  and  have  made  it,  by  a  few 
alterations  and  the  omission  of  one  stanza  (which,  though 
beautiful  quoad  se,  interrupted  the  run  of  the  thought 
"  I  love  to  see  the  aged  spirit  soar  "),  a  perfect  poem.  As 
it  followed  the  "Exiled  Patriots,"  I  altered  the  second 
and  fourth  lines  to,  "  So  freedom  taught,  in  high-voiced 
minstrel's  weed ; "  "  For  cap  and  gown  to  leave  the  pa- 
triot's meed." 

The  last  verse  now  runs  thus  :  — 

"  But  thou,  Memorial  of  monastic  gall  I 

What  fancy  sad  or  lightsome  hast  thou  given  ? 
Thy  vision-scaring  sounds  alone  recall 

The  prayer  that  trembles  on  a  yawn  to  Heaven, 
And  this  Dean's  gape,  and  that  Dean's  nasal  tone." 

Would  not  this  be  a  fine  subject  for  a  wild  ode  ? 

St.  Withold  footed  thrice  the  Oulds, 
He  met  the  nightmare  and  her  nine  foals ; 
He  bade  her  alight  and  her  troth  plight, 
And,  "  Aroynt  thee,  Witch  !  "  he  said. 

first  eight  lines  are  included  in  the  he  acknowledges  that  he  was  "  in- 

"  Monody  on  Chatterton."     See  Po-  debted  to  Mr.  Favell  for  the  rough 

etical    Works,   p.   63,   and   Editor's  sketch."    See  Poetical  Works,  p.  45, 

Note,  p.  563.  and  Editor's  Note,  p.  576. 

1  Printed    as    Effusion    XVI.   in  2  Southey's  Poetical  Works,  ii.  143. 

Poems,   1796.      It  was    afterwards  In  this  instance  Coleridge's  correc- 

headed  "  Charity."      In  the  preface  tions  were  not  adopted. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  111 

I  shall  set  about  one  when  I  am  in  a  humour  to  abandon 
myself  to  all  the  diableries  that  ever  met  the  eye  of  a 
Fuseli ! 

Le  Grice  has  jumbled  together  all  the  quaint  stupidity 
he  ever  wrote,  amounting  to  about  thirty  pages,  and  pub- 
lished it  in  a  book  about  the  size  and  dimensions  of  chil- 
dren's twopenny  books.  The  dedication  is  pretty.  He 
calls  the  publication  "  Tineum ;  " l  for  what  reason  or 
with  what  meaning  would  give  Madame  Sphinx  a  com- 
plete victory  over  CEdipus. 

A  wag  has  handed  about,  I  hear,  an  obtuse  angle  of 
wit,  under  the  name  of  "  An  Epigram."  'T  is  almost  as 
bad  as  the  subject. 

"  A  tiny  man  of  tiny  wit 

A  tiny  book  has  published. 
But  not  alas  !  one  tiny  bit 
His  tiny  fame  established." 

TO  BOWLES.2 

My  heart  has  thank'd  thee,  Bowles !  for  those  soft  strains, 

That,  on  the  still  air  floating,  tremblingly 

Woke  in  me  Fancy,  Love,  and  Sympathy  ! 

For  hence,  not  callous  to  a  Brother's  pains 

Thro'  Youth's  gay  prime  and  thornless  paths  I  went ; 

And  when  the  darker  day  of  life  began, 

And  I  did  roam,  a  thought-bewildered  man  ! 

Thy  kindred  Lays  an  healing  solace  lent, 

Each  lonely  pang  with  dreamy  joys  combin'd, 

And  stole  from  vain  REGRET  her  scorpion  stings  ; 

While  shadowy  PLEASURE,  with  mysterious  wings, 

Brooded  the  wavy  and  tumultuous  mind, 

Like  that  great  Spirit,  who  with  plastic  sweep 

Mov'd  on  the  darkness  of  the  formless  Deep ! 

Of  the  following  sonnet,  the  four  last  lines  were  writ- 
ten by  Lamb,  a  man  of  uncommon  genius.  Have  you 

1  Published  in  1794.  ing   Chronicle,  December  26,   1794. 

2  First  version,  printed  in  Morn-    See  Poetical  Works,  p.  40. 


112  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

seen  his  divine  sonnet  of  "  O  !  I  could  laugh  to  hear  the 
winter  winds,"  etc.  ? 

SONNET.* 

0  gentle  look,  that  didst  my  soul  beguile, 

Why  hast  thou  left  me  ?     Still  in  some  fond  dream 
Revisit  my  sad  heart,  auspicious  smile ! 
As  falls  on  closing  flowers  the  lunar  beam ; 
What  time  in  sickly  mood,  at  parting  day 

1  lay  me  down  and  think  of  happier  years ; 
Of  joys,  that  glimmered  in  Hope's  twilight  ray, 
Then  left  me  darkling  in  a  vale  of  tears. 

O  pleasant  days  of  Hope  —  for  ever  flown  ! 

Could  I  recall  one  !  —  But  that  thought  is  vain. 

Availeth  not  Persuasion's  sweetest  tone 

To  lure  the  fleet-winged  travellers  back  again : 

Anon,  they  haste  to  everlasting  night, 

Nor  can  a  giant's  arm  arrest  them  in  their  flight. 

The  four  last  lines  are  beautiful,  but  they  have  no  par- 
ticular meaning  which  "  that  thought  is  vain  "  does  not 
convey.  And  I  cannot  write  without  a  body  of  thought. 
v  Hence  my  poetry  is  crowded  and  sweats  beneath  a  heavy  J 
burden  of  ideas  and  imagery !  It  has  seldom  ease.  The 
little  song  ending  with  "  I  heav'd  the  painless  sigh  for 
thee !  "  is  an  exception,  and,  accordingly,  I  like  it  the 
best  of  all  I  ever  wrote.  My  sonnets  to  eminent  con- 
temporaries are  among  the  better  things  I  have  written. 
That  to  Erskine  is  a  bad  specimen.  I  have  written  ten, 
and  mean  to  write  six  more.  In  "  Fayette"  I  unwittingly 
(for  I  did  not  know  it  at  the  time)  borrowed  a  thought 
from  you. 

I  will  conclude  with  a  little  song  of  mine,2  which  has 
no  other  merit  than  a  pretty  simplicity  of  silliness. 

1  First  printed  as  Effusion  XIV.  which  occurs  in  more  than  one  of  his 

in  Poems,  1796.     Of  the  four  lines  early  poems.     See  Poetical   Works, 

said  to  have  been  written  by  Lamb,  p.  23,  and  Editor's  Note,  p.  566. 
Coleridge  discarded  lines  13  and  14,         2  Imitated  from  the  Welsh.     See 

and  substituted  a  favourite  couplet,  Poetical  Works,  p.  33. 


. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  113 

If  while  my  passion  I  impart, 

You  deem  my  words  untrue, 
O  place  your  hand  upon  my  heart  — 

Feel  how  it  throbs  for  you  ! 

Ah  no !  reject  the  thoughtless  claim 

In  pity  to  your  Lover  ! 
That  thrilling  touch  would  aid  the  flame 

It  wishes  to  discover  ! 

I  am  a  complete  necessitarian,  and  understand  the  sub- 
ject as  well  almost  as  Hartley  himself,  but  I  go  farther 
than  Hartley,  and  believe  the  corporeality  of  thought, 
namely,  that  it  is  motion.  Boyer  thrashed  Favell  most  ~\^ 
cruelly  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  I  sent  him  the  fol- 
lowing note  of  consolation :  "  I  condole  with  you  on  the 
unpleasant  motions,  to  which  a  certain  uncouth  automa- 
ton has  been  mechanized ;  and  am  anxious  to  know  the 
motives  that  impinged  on  its  optic  or  auditory  nerves  so 
as  to  be  communicated  in  such  rude  vibrations  through 
the  medullary  substance  of  its  brain,  thence  rolling  their 
stormy  surges  into  the  capillaments  of  its  tongue,  and  the 
muscles  of  its  arm.  The  diseased  violence  of  its  think- 
ing corporealities  will,  depend  upon  it,  cure  itself  by 
exhaustion.  In  the  mean  time  I  trust  that  you  have  not 
been  assimilated  in  degradation  by  losing  the  ataxy  of 
your  temper,  and  that  necessity  which  dignified  you  by  a 
sentience  of  the  pain  has  not  lowered  you  by  the  acces- 
sion of  anger  or  resentment." 

God  love  you,  Southey !     My  love  to  your  mother ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


114  STUDENT  LIFE  [Dec. 

XLII.    TO  THE   SAME. 

Wednesday,  December  17,  1794. 

When  I  am  unhappy  a  sigh  or  a  groan  does  not  feel 
sufficient  to  relieve  the  oppression  of  my  heart.  I  give 
a  long  whistle.  This  by  way  of  a  detached  truth. 

"  How  infinitely  more  to  be  valued  is  integrity  of  heart 
than  effulgence  of  intellect ! "  A  noble  sentiment,  and 
would  have  come  home  to  me,  if  for  "  integrity  "  you  had 
substituted  "  energy."  The  skirmishes  of  sensibility  are 
indeed  contemptible  when  compared  with  the  well-dis- 
ciplined phalanx  of  right-onward  feelings.  O  ye  invin- 
cible soldiers  of  virtue,  who  arrange  yourselves  under  the 
generalship  of  fixed  principles,  that  you  would  throw  up 
your  fortifications  around  my  heart !  I  pronounce  this  a 
very  sensible,  apostrophical,  metaphorical  rant. 

I  dined  yesterday  with  Perry  and  Grey  (the  proprietor 
and  editor  of  the  "  Morning  Chronicle  ")  at  their  house, 
and  met  Holcroft.  He  either  misunderstood  Lovell,  or 
Lovell  misunderstood  him.  I  know  not  which,  but  it  is 
very  clear  to  me  that  neither  of  them  understands  nor 
enters  into  the  views  of  our  system.  Holcroft  opposes  it 
violently  and  thinks  it  not  virtuous.  His  arguments  were 
such  as  Nugent  and  twenty  others  have  used  to  us  before 
him  ;  they  were  nothing.  There  is  a  fierceness  and  dog- 
matism of  conversation  in  Holcroft  for  which  you  receive 
little  compensation  either  from  the  veracity  of  his  informa- 
tion, the  closeness  of  his  reasoning,  or  the  splendour  of  his 
language.  He  talks  incessantly  of  metaphysics,  of  which 
he  appears  to  me  to  know  nothing,  to  have  read  nothing. 
He  is  ignorant  as  a  scholar,  and  neglectful  of  the  smaller 
humanities  as  a  man.  Compare  him  with  Person !  My 
God !  to  hear  Person  crush  Godwin,  Holcroft,  etc.  They 
absolutely  tremble  before  him  !  I  had  the  honour  of  work- 
ing H.  a  little,  and  by  my  great  coolness  and  command  of 
impressive  language  certainly  did  him  over.  "  Sir !  "  said 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  115 

he, "  I  never  knew  so  much  real  wisdom  and  so  much  rank 
error  meet  in  one  mind  before !  "  "  Which,"  answered  I, 
"  means,  I  suppose,  that  in  some  things,  sir,  I  agree  with 
you,  and  in  others  I  do  not."  He  absolutely  infests  you 
with  atheism ;  and  his  arguments  are  such  that  the 
nonentities  of  Nugent  consolidate  into  oak  or  iron  wood 
by  comparison !  As  to  his  taste  in  poetry,  he  thinks 
lightly,  or  rather  contemptuously,  of  Bowies'  sonnets  ;  the 
language  flat  and  prosaic  and  inharmonious,  and  the  sen- 
timents only  fit  for  girls  !  Come,  come,  Mr.  Holcroft,  as 
much  unintelligible  metaphysics  and  as  much  bad  criticism 
as  you  please,  but  no  blasphemy  against  the  divinity  of  a 
Bowles  !  Person  idolizes  the  sonnets.  However  it  hap- 
pened, I  am  higher  in  his  good  graces  than  he  in  mine. 
If  I  am  in  town  I  dine  with  him  and  Godwin,  etc.,  at 
his  house  on  Sunday. 

I  am  astonished  at  your  preference  of  the  "  Elegy."     I 
think  it  the  worst  thing  you  ever  wrote. 

"  Qui  Gratio  non  odit,  amet  tua  carmina,  Avaro  !  "  l 

Why,  't  is  almost  as  bad  as  Lovell's  "  Farmhouse,"  and 
that  would  be  at  least  a  thousand  fathoms  deep  in  the 
dead  sea  of  pessimism. 

"  The  hard  world  scoff'd  my  woes,  the  chaste  one's  pride, 
*  Implied  in       Mimic  of  virtue,  mock'd  my  keen  distress, 
the  second      #  ^nd  yice  alone  would  shelter  wretchedness. 
Even  life  is  loathsome  now,"  etc. 

These  two  stanzas  are  exquisite,  but  the  lovely  thought  of 
the  "  hot  sun,"  etc.,  as  pitiless  as  proud  prosperity  loses 
part  of  its  beauty  by  the  time  being  night.  It  is  among 
the  chief  excellences  of  Bowles  that  his  imagery  appears 
almost  always  prompted  by  surrounding  scenery. 
f^  Before  you  write  a  poem  you  should  say  to  yourself, 
"  What  do  I  intend  to  be  the  character  of  this  poem  ; 

1  A  parody  of  "  Qui  Bavium  non  Southey  and   Lovell   in  their  joint 

odit,    amet    tua    carmina,    Mo3vi."  volume  of  poems  published  at  Bris- 

Virgil,    Ed.    iii.  90.      Gratio     and  tol  in  1795. 
Avaro  were  signatures  adopted  by 


116  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

I  which  feature  is  to  be  predominant  in  it  ? "  So  you 
Umake  it  unique.  But  in  this  poem  now  Charlotte  speaks 
and  now  the  Poet.  Assuredly  the  stanzas  of  Memory, 
"  three  worst  of  fiends,"  etc.,  and  "  gay  fancy  fond  and 
frolic"  are  altogether  poetical.  You  have  repeated  the 
same  rhymes  ungracefully,  and  the  thought  on  which  you 
harp  so  long  recalls  too  forcibly  the  EvS«s  /3pe<£os  of  Si- 
monides.  Unfortunately  the  "  Adventurer  "  has  made  this 
sweet  fragment  an  object  of  popular  admiration.  On  the 
whole,  I  think  it  unworthy  of  your  other  "  Botany  Bay 
Eclogues,"  yet  deem  the  two  stanzas  above  selected  su- 
perior almost  to  anything  you  ever  wrote ;  quod  est  magna 
res  dicere,  a  great  thing  to  say. 

SONNET.i 

Though  king-bred  rage  with  lawless  Tumult  rude 
Have  driv'n  our  Priestley  o'er  the  ocean  swell ; ' 
Though  Superstition  and  her  wolfish  brood 
Bay  his  mild  radiance,  impotent  and  fell ; 
Calm  in  his  halls  of  brightness  he  shall  dwell ! 
For  lo  !  Religion  at  his  strong  behest 
Disdainful  rouses  from  the  Papal  spell, 
And  flings  to  Earth  her  tinsel-glittering  vest, 
Her  mitred  state  and  cumbrous  pomp  unholy ; 
And  Justice  wakes  to  bid  th'  oppression  wail, 
That  ground  th'  ensnared  soul  of  patient  Folly ; 
And  from  her  dark  retreat  by  Wisdom  won, 
Meek  Nature  slowly  lifts  her  matron  veil, 
To  smile  with  fondness  on  her  gazing  son ! 

1  Of  the  six  sonnets  included  in  The    sonnets   to  Godwin,    Sonthey, 

this  letter,  those  to  Burke,  Priestley,  and  Sheridan  were  published  on  the 

and  Kosciusko  had  already  appeared  10th,  14th,   and   29th   of   January, 

in  the  Morning  Chronicle  on  the  9th,  1795.     See  Poetical  Works,  pp.  38, 

llth,  and  16th  of  December,  1794.  39,  41,  42. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  117 


SONNET. 

O  what  a  loud  and  fearful  shriek  was  there, 

As  though  a  thousand  souls  one  death-groan  poured  ! 

Great  Kosciusko  'neath  an  hireling's  sword 

The  warriors  view'd !     Hark  !  through  the  list'ning  air 

(When  pauses  the  tir'd  Cossack's  barbarous  yell 

Of  triumph)  on  the  chill  and  midnight  gale 

Rises  with  frantic  burst  or  sadder  swell 

The  "  Dirge  of  Murder'd  Hope  !  "  while  Freedom  pale 

Bends  in  such  anguish  o'er  her  destined  bier, 

As  if  from  eldest  time  some  Spirit  meek 

Had  gathered  in  a  mystic  urn  each  tear 

That  ever  furrowed  a  sad  Patriot's  cheek, 

And  she  had  drench'd  the  sorrows  of  the  bowl 

Ev'n  till  she  reel'd,  intoxicate  of  soul ! 

Tell  me  which  you  like  the  best  of  the  above  two.  I 
have  written  one  to  Godwin,  but  the  mediocrity  of  the 
eight  first  lines  is  most  miserably  magazinish !  I  have 
plucked,  therefore,  these  scentless  road-flowers  from  the 
chaplet,  and  entreat  thee,  thou  river  god  of  Pieria,  to 
weave  into  it  the  gorgeous  water-lily  from  thy  stream,  or 
the  far-smelling  violets  on  thy  bank.  The  last  six  lines 
are  these :  — 

Nor  will  I  not  thy  holy  guidance  bless 
And  hymn  thee,  Godwin  !  with  an  ardent  lay  ; 
For  that  thy  voice,  in  Passion's  stormy  day, 
When  wild  I  roam'd  the  bleak  Heath  of  Distress, 
Bade  the  bright  form  of  Justice  meet  my  way,  — 
And  told  me  that  her  name  was  Happiness. 

Give  me  your  minutest  opinion  concerning  the  follow- 
ing sonnet,  whether  or  no  I  shall  admit  it  into  the  num- 
ber. The  move  of  bepraising  a  man  by  enumerating  the 
beauties  of  his  polygraph  is  at  least  an  original  one ;  so 
much  so  that  I  fear  it  will  be  somewhat  unintelligible  to 


118  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

those  whose  brains  are  not  TOV  d/xeiWos  ir^Xov.  (You  have 
read  S.'s  poetry  and  know  that  the  fancy  displayed  in  it  is 
sweet  and  delicate  to  the  highest  degree.) 

TO   R.   B.   SHERIDAN,  ESQ. 

Some  winged  Genius,  Sheridan  !  imbreath'd 

His  various  influence  on  thy  natal  hour : 

My  fancy  bodies  forth  the  Guardian  Power, 

His  temples  with  Hymettian  flowerets  wreath'd  ; 

And  sweet  his  voice,  as  when  o'er  Laura's  bier 

Sad  music  trembled  through  Vauclusa's  glade  ; 

Sweet,  as  at  dawn  the  lovelorn  serenade 

That  bears  soft  dreams  to  Slumber's  listening  ear ! 

Now  patriot  Zeal  and  Indignation  high 

Swell  the  full  tones  !  and  now  his  eye-beams  dance 

Meanings  of  Scorn  and  Wit's  quaint  revelry  ! 

Th'  Apostate  by  the  brainless  rout  adored, 

Writhes  inly  from  the  bosom-probing  glance, 

As  erst  that  nobler  Fiend  beneath  great  Michael's  sword ! 

I  will  give  the  second  number  as  deeming  that  it  pos- 
sesses mind :  — 

As  late  I  roamed  through  Fancy's  shadowy  vale, 

With  wetted  cheek  and  in  a  mourner's  guise, 

I  saw  the  sainted  form  of  Freedom  rise  : 

He  spake  :  —  not  sadder  moans  th'  autumnal  gale  — 

"  Great  Son  of  Genius  !   sweet  to  me  thy  name, 

Ere  in  an  evil  hour  with  altered  voice 

Thou  badst  Oppression's  hireling  crew  rejoice, 

Blasting  with  wizard  spell  my  laureU'd  fame. 

Yet  never,  Burke  !  thou  drank'st  Corruption's  bowl ! 

Thee  stormy  Pity  and  the  cherish'd  lure 

Of  Pomp  and  proud  precipitance  of  soul 

Urged  on  with  wild'ring  fires.    Ah,  spirit  pure  ! 

That  Error's  mist  had  left  thy  purged  eye ; 

So  might  I  clasp  thee  with  a  Mother's  joy." 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  119 

ADDRESS  TO  A  YOUNG  JACKASS  AND  ITS  TETHERED 

MOTHERS 

Poor  little  foal  of  an  oppressed  race ! 

I  love  the  languid  patience  of  thy  face : 

And  oft  with  friendly  hand  I  give  thee  bread, 

And  clap  thy  ragged  coat  and  pat  thy  head. 

But  what  thy  dulled  spirit  hath  dismay 'd, 

That  never  thou  dost  sport  upon  the  glade  ? 

And  (most  unlike  the  nature  of  things  young) 

That  still  to  earth  thy  moping  head  is  hung  ? 

Do  thy  prophetic  tears  anticipate, 

Meek  Child  of  Misery,  thy  future  fate  ? 

The  starving  meal  and  all  the  thousand  aches 

That  "  patient  Merit  of  the  Unworthy  takes  "  ? 

Or  is  thy  sad  heart  thrill'd  with  filial  pain 

To  see  thy  wretched  mother's  lengthened  chain  ? 

And  truly,  very  piteous  is  her  lot, 

Chained  to  a  log  upon  a  narrow  spot, 

Where  the  close-eaten  grass  is  scarcely  seen, 

While  sweet  around  her  waves  the  tempting  green ! 

Poor  Ass !  thy  master  should  have  learnt  to  show 

Pity  best  taught  by  fellowship  of  Woe  ! 

For  much  I  fear  me  that  He  lives  like  thee 

Half-famish'd  in  a  land  of  Luxury  ! 

How  askingly  its  steps  towards  me  bend ! 

It  seems  to  say,  "  And  have  I  then  one  friend  ?  " 

Innocent  foal !  thou  poor,  despis'd  forlorn ! 

I  hail  thee  Brother,  spite  of  the  fool's  scorn  ! 

And  fain  I  'd  take  thee  with  me  in  the  Dell 

Of  high-souled  Pantisocracy  to  dwell ; 

Where  Toil  shall  call  the  charmer  Health  his  bride, 

And  Laughter  tickle  Plenty's  ribless  side  ! 

How  thou  wouldst  toss  thy  heels  in  gamesome  play, 

And  frisk  about,  as  lamb  or  kitten  gay. 

1  First  published  in  the  Morning  Jackass  in  Jesus  Piece.     Its  Mother 

Chronicle,  December  30,  1794.     An  near  it,  chained  to  a  Log."    See  Po- 

earlier  draft,  dated  October  24, 1794,  etical    Works,  Appendix   C,  p.  477, 

was  headed  "  Monologue  to  a  Young  and  Editor's  Note,  p.  573. 


120  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

Yea,  and  more  musically  sweet  to  me 
Thy  dissonant  harsh  bray  of  joy  would  be, 
Than  BantVs  warbled  airs,  that  soothe  to  rest 
The  tumult  of  a  scoundrel  Monarch's  breast ! 

How  do  you  like  it  ? 

I  took  the  liberty  —  Gracious  God  !  pardon  me  for  the 
aristocratic  frigidity  of  that  expression  —  I  indulged  my 
feelings  by  sending  this  among  my  Contemporary  Sonnets : 

Southey !  Thy  melodies  steal  o'er  mine  ear 
Like  far-off  joyance,  or  the  murmuring 
Of  wild  bees  in  the  sunny  showers  of  Spring  — 
Sounds  of  such  mingled  import  as  may  cheer 
The  lonely  breast,  yet  rouse  a  mindful  tear : 
Waked  by  the  song  doth  Hope-born  Fancy  fling 
Rich  showers  of  dewy  fragrance  from  her  wing, 
Till  sickly  Passion's  drooping  Myrtles  sear 
Blossom  anew !     But  O !  more  thrill'd  I  prize 
Thy  sadder  strains,  that  bid  in  Memory's  Dream 
The  faded  forms  of  past  Delight  arise  ; 
Then  soft  on  Love's  pale  cheek  the  tearful  gleam 
Of  Pleasure  smiles  as  faint  yet  beauteous  lies 
The  imaged  Rainbow  on  a  willowy  stream. 

God  love  you  and  your  mother  and  Edith  and  Sara 
and  Mary  and  little  Eliza,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

[The  following  lines  in  Southey's  handwriting  are  at- 
tached to  this  letter :  — 

What  though  oppression's  blood-cemented  force 
Stands  proudly  threatening  arrogant  in  state, 
Not  thine  his  savage  priests  to  immolate 

Or  hurl  the  fabric  on  the  encnmber'd  plain 

As  with  a  whirlwind's  fury.     It  is  thine 

When  dark  Revenge  masked  in  the  form  adored 
Of  Justice  lifts  on  high  the  murderer's  sword 

To  save  the  erring  victims  from  her  shrine. 

To  GODWIN.] 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  121 

XLIH.   TO   THE   SAME. 

Monday  morning,  December,  1794. 

MY  DEAE  SOUTHEY,  —  I  will  not  say  that  you  treat 
me  coolly  or  mysteriously,  yet  assuredly  you  seem  to  look 
upon  me  as  a  man  whom  vanity,  or  some  other  inexpli- 
cable cause,  has  alienated  from  the  system,  or  what  could 
,  build  so  injurious  a  suspicion  ?  Wherein,  when  roused 
to  the  recollection  of  my  duty,  have  I  shrunk  from  the 
performance  of  it  ?  I  hold  my  life  and  my  feeble  feel- 
ings as  ready  sacrifices  to  justice  —  KO.VKO.W  viropas  yap.  I 
dismiss  a  subject  so  painful  to  me  as  self-vindication ; 
painful  to  me  only  as  addressing  ypu  on  whose  esteem 
and  affection  I  have  rested  with  the  whole  weight  of  my 
soul. 

Southey !  I  must  tell  you  that  you  appear  to  me  to  write 
as  a  man  who  is  aweary  of  the  world  because  it  accords 
not  with  his  ideas  of  perfection.  Your  sentiments  look 
like  the  sickly  offspring  of  disgusted  pride.  It  flies  not 
away  from  the  couches  of  imperfection  because  the  patients 
are  fretful  and  loathsome. 

Why,  my  dear,  very  dear  Southey,  do  you  wrap  your- 
self in  the  mantle  of  self -centring  resolve,  and  refuse  to 
us  your  bounden  quota  of  intellect  ?  Why  do  you  say, 
"  /,  /,  /  will  do  so  and  so,"  instead  of  saying,  as  you  were 
wont  to  do,  "It  is  all  our  duty  to  do  so  and  so,  for  such 
and  such  reasons  "  ? 

For  God's  sake,  my  dear  fellow,  tell  me  what  we  are  to 
gain  by  taking  a  Welsh  farm.  Kemember  the  principles 
and  proposed  consequences  of  pantisocracy,  and  reflect  in 
what  degree  they  are  attainable  by  Coleridge,  Southey, 
Lovell,  Burnett,  and  Co.,  some  five  men  going  partners 
together?  In  the  next  place,  supposing  that  we  have 
proved  the  preponderating  utility  of  our  aspheterizing  in 
Wales,  let  us  by  our  speedy  and  united  inquiries  discover 
the  sum  of  money  necessary,  whether  such  a  farm  with  so 


122  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

very  large  a  house  is  to  be  procured  without  launching 
our  frail  and  unpiloted  bark  on  a  rough  sea  of  anxieties. 
How  much  is  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  so  large  a 
family — eighteen  people  for  a  year  at  least  ? 

I  have  read  my  objections  to  Lovell.  If  he  has  not  an- 
swered them  altogether  to  my  fullest  conviction,  he  has 
however  shown  me  the  wretchedness  that  would  fall  on 
the  majority  of  our  party  from  any  delay  in  so  forcible  a 
light,  that  if  three  hundred  pounds  be  adequate  to  the 
commencement  of  the  system  (which  I  very  much  doubt), 
I  am  most  willing  to  give  up  all  my  views  and  embark 
immediately  with  you. 

If  it  be  determined  that  we  shall  go  to  Wales  (for  which 
I  now  give  my  vote),  in  what  time  ?  Mrs.  Lovell  thinks  it 
impossible  that  we  should  go  in  less  than  three  months.  If 
this  be  the  case,  I  will  accept  of  the  reporter's  place  to  the 
"  Telegraph,"  live  upon  a  guinea  a  week,  and  transmit  the 
[? balance],  finishing  in  the  same  time  my  "Imitations." 

However,  I  will  walk  to  Bath  to-morrow  morning  and 
return  in  the  evening. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lovell,  Sarah,  Edith,  all  desire  their  best 
love  to  you,  and  are  anxious  concerning  your  health. 

May  God  love  you  and  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XLIV.   TO  MARY  EVANS. 

(?)  December,  1794. 

Too  long  has  my  heart  been  the  torture  house  of  sus- 
pense. After  infinite  struggles  of  jrresolution,  I  will  at 
last  dare  to  request  of  you,  Mary,  that  you  will  commu- 
nicate to  me  whether  or  no  you  are  engaged  to  Mr. . 

I  conjure  you  not  to  consider  this  request  as  presumptuous 
indelicacy.  Upon  mine  honour,  I  have  made  it  with  no 
other  design  or  expectation  than  that  of  arming  my  forti- 
tude by  total  hopelessness.  Kead  this  letter  with  benev- 
olence —  and  consign  it  to  oblivion. 


1794]  TO  MARY  EVANS  123 

For  four  years  I  have  endeavoured  to  smother  a  very 
ardent  attachment ;  in  what  degree  I  have  succeeded  you 
must  know  better  than  I  can.  With  quick  perceptions 
of  moral  beauty,  it  was  impossible  for  me  not  to  admire 
in  you  your  sensibility  regulated  by  judgment,  your  gaiety 
proceeding  from  a  cheerful  heart  acting  on  the  stores  of  a 
strong  understanding.  At  first  I  voluntarily  invited  the 
recollection  of  these  qualities  into  my  mind.  I  made  them 
the  perpetual  object  of  my  reveries,  yet  I  entertained  no 
one  sentiment  Beyond  that  of  the  immediate  pleasure  an- 
nexed to  the  thinking  of  you.  At  length  it  became  a 
habit.  I  awoke  from  the  delusion,  and  found  that  I  had 
unwittingly  harboured  a  passion  which  I  felt  neither  the 
power  nor  the  courage  to  subdue.  My  associations  were 
irrevocably  formed,  and  your  image  was  blended  with  every 
idea.  I  thought  of  you  incessantly;  yet  that  spirit  (if 
spirit  there  be  that  condescends  to  record  the  lonely  beat- 
Ings  of  my  heart),  that  jjpirit  knows  that  I  thought  of  you 
with  the  purity  of  a  brother.  Happy  were  I,  had  it  been 
with  no  more  than  a  brother's  ardour ! 

The  man  of  dependent  fortunes,  while  he  fosters  an  at- 
tachment, commits  an  act  of  suicide  on  his  happiness.  I 
possessed  no  establishment.  My  views  were  very  distant ; 
I  saw  that  you  regarded  me  merely  with  the  kindness  of  a 
sister.  What  expectations  could  I  form  ?  I  formed  no 
expectations.  I  was  ever  resolving  to  subdue  the  dis- 
quieting passion ;  still  some  inexplicable  suggestion  pal- 
sied my  efforts,  and  I  clung  with  desperate  fondness  to 
this  phantom  of  love,  its  mysterious  attractions  and  hope- 
less prospects.  It  was  a  faint  and  rayless  hope  ! 1  Yet  it 
soothed  my  solitude  with  many  a  delightful  day-dream. 
It  was  a  faint  and  rayless  hope  !  Yet  I  nursed  it  in  my 
bosom  with  an  agony  of  affection,  even  as  a  mother  her 

1  Compare  the  last  six  lines  of  a  dated  October  21,  1794.  (Letter 
sonnet,  "  On  a  Discovery  made  too  XXXVII.)  See  Poetical  Works,  p. 
late,"  sent  in  a  letter  to  Southey,  34,  and  Editor's  Note,  p.  571. 


124  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

sickly  infant.  But  these  are  the  poisoned  luxuries  of  a 
diseased  fancy.  Indulge,  Mary,  this  my  first,  my -last 
request,  and  restore  me  to  reality,  however  gloomy.  Sad 
lind  full  of  heaviness  will  the  intelligence  be ;  my  heart 
will  die  within  me.  I  shall,  however,  receive  it  with  stead- 
ier resignation  from  yourself,  than  were  it  announced  to 
me  (haply  on  your  marriage  jlay !)  by  a  stranger.  In- 
dulge my  request ;  I  will  not  disturb  yourjseace  by  even 
a  look  of  discontent,  still  less  will  I  offend  your  ear  by  the 
whine  of  selfish  sensibility.  In  a  few  months  I  shall  enter 
at  the  Temple  and  there  seek  forgetful  calmness,  where 
only  it  can  be  found,  in  incessant  and  useful  activity. 

Were  you  not  possessed  of  a  mind  and  of  a  heart  above 
the  usual  lot  of  women,  I  should  not  have  written  you 
sentiments  that  would  be  unintelligible  to  three  fourths 
of  your  sex.  But  our  feelings  are  congenial,  though  our 
attachment  is  doomed  not  to  be  reciprocal.  You  will  not 
deem  so  meanly  of  me  as  to  believe  that  I  shall  regard 

Mr. with  the  jaundiced  eye  of  disappointed  passion. 

God  forbid  !  He  whom  you  honour  with  your  affections 
becomes  sacred  to  me.  I  shall  love  him  for  your  sake ; 
the  time  may  perhaps  come  when  I  shall  be  philosopher 
enough  not  to  envy  him  for  his  own. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

I  return  to  Cambridge  to-morrow  morning. 
Miss  EVANS,  No.  17  Sackville  Street,  Piccadilly. 

XLV.    TO   THE   SAME. 

December  24,  1794. 

I  have  this  moment  received  your  letter,  Mary  Evans. 
Its  firmness  does  honour  to  your  understanding,  its  gen- 
tleness to  your  humanity.  You  condescend  to  accuse 
yourself  —  most  unjustly !  You  have  been  altogether 
blameless.  In  my  wildest  day-dream  of  ^vanity,  I  never 
supposed  that  you  entertained  for  me  any  other  than  a 
common  friendship. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  125 

To  love  you,  habit  has  made  unalterable.  This  passion, 
however,  divested  as  it  now  is  of  all  shadow  of  Jhope,  will 
lose  its  disquieting  power.  Far  distant  from  you  I  shall 
journey  through  the  vale  of  men  in  calmness.  He  cannot 
long  be  wretched,  who  dares/Be  actively  virtuous. 

I  have  burnt  your_letters  —  forget  mine ;  and  that  I 
have  pained  you,  forgive  me  ! 

May  God  infinitely  love  you ! 

S.    T.    COLEEIDGE. 

XLVI.    TO   KOBEET   SOUTHEY. 

December,  1794. 

I  am  calm,  dear  Southey !  as  an  autumnal  day,  when 
the  sky  is  covered  with  gray  moveless  clouds.  To  love 
her,  habit  has  made  unalterable.  I  had  placed  her  in  the 
sanctuary  of  my  heart,  nor  can  she  be  torn  from  thence 
but  with  the  strings  that  grapple  it  to  life.  This  passion, 
however,  divested  as  it  now  is  of  all  shadow  of  hope, 
seems  to  lose  its  disquieting  power.  Far  distant,  and 
never  more  to  behold  or  hear  of  her,  I  shall  sojourn  in 
the  vale  of  men,  sad  and  in  loneliness,  yet  not  unhappy. 
I  He  cannot  be  long  wretched  who  dares  be  actively  vir- 
tuous.  I  am  well  assured  that  she  loves  me  as  a  favourite 
brother.  When  she  was  present,  she  was  to  me  only  as  a 
very  dear  sister ;  it  was  in  absence  that  I  felt  those  gnaw- 
ings  of  suspense,  and  that  dreaminess  of  mind,  which 
evidence  an  affection  more  restless,  yet  scarcely  less  pure 
than  the  fraternal.  The  struggle  has  been  well  nigh  too 
much  for  me  ;  but,  praised  be  the  All-Merciful !  the  fee- 
bleness of  exhausted  feelings  has  produced  a  calm,  and 
my  heart  stagnates  into  peace. 

Southey !  my  ideal  standard  of  female  excellence  rises 
not  above  that  woman.  But  all  things  work  together 
for  good.  Had  I  been  united  to  her,  the  excess  of  my 
affection  would  have  effeminated  my  intellect.  I  should 
have  fed  on  her  looks  as  she  entered  into  the  room,  I 


126  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

should  have  gazed  on  her  footsteps  when  she  went  out 
from  me. 

To  lose  her  !  I  can  rise  above  that  selfish  pang.  But 
to  marry  another.  O  Southey !  bear  with  my  weakness. 
Love  makes  all  things  pure  and  heavenly  like  itself,  — 
but  to  marry  a  woman  whom  I  do  not  love,  to  degrade 
her  whom  I  call  my  wife  by  making  her  the  instrument 
of  low  desire,  and  on  the  removal  of  a  desultory  appetite 
to  be  perhaps  not  displeased  with  her  absence !  Enough ! 
These  refinements  are  the  wildering  fires  that  lead  me 
into  vice.  Mark  you,  Southey  !  /  will  do  my  duty. 

I  have  this  moment  received  your  letter.  My  friend, 
you  want  but  one  quality  of  mind  to  be  a  perfect  charac- 
ter. Your  sensibilities  are  tempestuous  ;  you  feel  indig- 
nation at  weakness.  Now  Indignation  is  the  handsome 
brother  of  Anger  and  Hatred.  His  looks  are  "  lovely  in 
terror,"  yet  still  remember  who  are  his  relations.  I 
would  ardently  that  you  were  a  necessitarian,  and  (be- 
lieving in  an  all-loving  Omnipotence)  an  optimist.  That 
puny  imp  of  darkness  yclept  scepticism,  how  could  it  dare 
to  approach  the  hallowed  fires  that  burn  so  brightly  on 
the  altar  of  your  heart  ? 

Think  you  I  wish  to  stay  in  town?  I  am  all  eager- 
ness to  leave  it ;  and  am  resolved,  whatever  be  the  conse- 
quence, to  be  at  Bath  by  Saturday.  I  thought  of  walk- 
ing down. 

I  have  written  to  Bristol  and  said  I  could  not  assign  a 
particular  time  for  my  leaving  town.  I  spoke  indefinitely 
that  I  might  not  disappoint. 

I  am  not,  I  presume,  to  attribute  some  verses  addressed 
to  S.  T.  C.,  in  the  "  Morning  Chronicle,"  to  you.  To 
whom  ?  My  dear  Allen !  wherein  has  he  offended  ?  He 
did  never  promise  to  form  one  of  our  party.  But  of  all 
this  when  we  meet.  Would  a  pistol  preserve  integrity? 
So  concentrate  guilt  ?  no  very  philosophical  mode  of  pre- 
venting it.  I  will  write  of  indifferent  subjects.  Your 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  127 

sonnet,1  "  Hold  your  mad  hands !  "  is  a  noble  burst  of 
poetry ;  and  —  but  my  mind  is  weakened  and  I  turn  with 
selfishness  of  thought  to  those  wilder  songs  that  develop 
my  lonely  feelings.  Sonnets  are  scarcely  fit  for  the  hard 
gaze  of  the  public.  I  read,  with  heart  and  taste  equally 
delighted,  your  prefatory  sonnet.2  I  transcribe  it,  not  so 
much  to  give  you  my  corrections,  as  for  the  pleasure  it 
gives  me. 

With  wayworn  feet,  a  pilgrim  woe-begone, 
Life's  upland  steep  I  journeyed  many  a  day, 
And  hymning  many  a  sad  yet  soothing  lay, 

Beguiled  my  wandering  with  the  charms  of  song. 
Lonely  my  heart  and  rugged  was  my  way, 

Yet  often  plucked  I,  as  I  passed  along, 

The  wild  and  simple  flowers  of  poesy : 

And,  as  beseemed  the  wayward  Fancy's  child, 

Entwined  each  random  weed  that  pleased  mine  eye. 
Accept  the  wreath,  Beloved  !  it  is  wild 
And  rudely  garlanded  ;  yet  scorn  not  thou 

The  humble  offering,  when  the  sad  rue  weaves 

With  gayer  flowers  its  intermingled  leaves, 
And  I  have  twin'd  the  myrtle  for  thy  brow ! 

It  is  a  lovely  sonnet.  Lamb  likes  it  with  tears  in  his 
eyes.  His  sister  has  lately  been  very  unwell,  confined  to 
her  bed,  dangerously.  She  is  all  his  comfort,  he  hers. 
They  dote  on  each  other.  Her  mind  is  elegantly  stored  ; 
her  heart  feeling.  Her  illness  preyed  a  good  deal  on  his 
spirits,  though  he  bore  it  with  an  apparent  equanimity  as 
beseemed  him  who,  like_me,  is  a  Unitarian  Christian,  and 
an  advocate  for  the  automatism  of  man. 

1  The  first  of  six  sonnets  on  the  Bristol,     1796.     Southey's    Poetical 
Slave    Trade.       Southey's    Poetical  Works,  1837,  vol.  ii.     The  text  of 
Works,  1837,  ii.  55.  1837  differs  considerably  from  the 

2  Prefixed  as  a  dedication  to  Ju-  earlier  version.      Possibly   in  tran- 
venile  and  Minor  Poems.     It  is  ad-  scribing  Coleridge  altered  the  origi- 
dressed  to  Edith  Southey,  and  dated  nal  to  suit  his  own  taste. 


128  STUDENT  LIFE  [DEC. 

I  was  writing  a  poem,  which  when  finished  you  shall 
see,  and  wished  him  to  describe  the  character  and  doc- 
trines of  Jesus  Christ  for  me ;  but  his  low  spirits  pre- 
vented him.  The  poem  is  in  blank  verse  on  the  Nativity. 
I  sent  him  these  careless  lines,  which  flowed  from  my  pen 
extemporaneously :  — 

TO  C.  LAMB.1 

Thus  far  my  sterile  brain  hath  framed  the  song 

Elaborate  and  swelling :  but  the  heart 

Not  owns  it.     From  thy  spirit-breathing  power 

I  ask  not  now,  my  friend  !  the  aiding  verse, 

Tedious  to  thee,  and  from  thy  anxious  thought 

Of  dissonant  mood.     In  fancy   (well  I  know) 

Thou  creepest  round  a  dear-loved  Sister's  bed 

With  noiseless  step,  and  watchest  the  faint  look, 

Soothing  each  pang  with  fond  solicitude, 

And  tenderest  tones,  medicinal  of  love. 

I  too  a  Sister  had,  an  only  Sister  — • 

She  loved  me  dearly,  and  I  doted  on  her  ! 

On  her  soft  bosom  I  reposed  my  cares 

And  gained  for  every  wound  a  healing  scar. 

To  her  I  pour'd  forth  all  my  puny  sorrows, 

(As  a  sick  Patient  in  his  Nurse's  arms), 

And  of  the  heart  those  hidden  maladies 

That  shrink  ashamed  from  even  Friendship's  eye. 

0  !  I  have  woke  at  midnight  and  have  wept 
Because  she  was  not !     Cheerily,  dear  Charles  ! 
Thou  thy  best  friend  shalt  cherish  many  a  year  : 
Such  high  presages  feel  I  of  warm  hope  ! 

For  not  uninterested,  the  dear  Maid 

1  've  view'd  —  her  Soul  affectionate  yet  wise, 
Her  polish'd  wit  as  mild  as  lambent  glories 
That  play  around  a  holy  infant's  head. 

He  knows  (the  Spirit  who  in  secret  sees, 
Of  whose  omniscient  and  all-spreading  Love 

1  To  a  Friend  [Charles   Lamb],     ["Religious    Musings"].      Poetical 
together  with  an    Unfinished  Poem     Works,  p.  37. 


1794]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  129 

Aught  to  implore  were  Impotence  of  mind) 
That  my  mute  thoughts  are  sad  before  his  throne, 
Prepar'd,  when  he  his  healing  pay  vouchsafes, 
To  pour  forth  thanksgiving  with  lifted  heart, 
And  praise  Him  Gracious  with  a  Brother's  Joy  ! 

Wynne  is  indeed  a  noble  fellow.     More  when  we  meet. 
Your  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


CHAPTER  II 

EAELY  PUBLIC  LIFE 

1795-1796 


CHAPTER  II 

EARLY   PUBLIC    LIFE 

1795-1796 

XL VII.    TO  JOSEPH   COTTLE. 

Spring,  1795. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  Can  you  conveniently  lend  me  five 
pounds,  as  we  want  a  little  more  than  four  pounds  to 
make  up  our  lodging  bill,  which  is  indeed  much  higher 
than  we  expected ;  seven  weeks  and  Burnett's  lodging  for 
twelve  weeks,  amounting  to  eleven  pounds  ? 

Yours  affectionately, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XLVHI.   TO   THE   SAME. 

July  31, 1795. 

DEAR  COTTLE,  —  By  the  thick  smokes  that  precede 
the  volcanic  eruptions  of  Etna,  Vesuvius,  and  Hecla,  I 
feel  an  impulse  to  fumigate,  at  25  College  Street,  one  pair 
of  stairs'  room ;  yea,  with  our  Oronoco,  and,  if  thou  wilt 
send  me  by  the  bearer  four  pipes,  I  will  write  a  panegyr- 
ical epic  poem  upon  thee,  with  as  many  books  as  there  are 
letters  in  thy  name.  Moreover,  if  thou  wilt  send  me 
"the  copy-book,"  I  hereby  bind  myself,  by  to-morrow 
morning,  to  write  out  enough  copy  for  a  sheet  and  a  half. 

God  bless  you.  S.  T.  C. 


134  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Ocx. 

XLIX.   TO   THE   SAME. 

1795. 

DEAR  COTTLE,  —  Shall  I  trouble  you  (I  being  over 
the  mouth  and  nose,  in  doing  something  of  importance, 

at 's)  to  send  your  servant  into  the  market  and  buy 

a  pound  of  bacon,  and  two  quarts  of  broad  beans ;  and 
when  he  carries  it  down  to  College  Street,  to  desire  the 
maid  to  dress  it  for  dinner,  and  tell  her  I  shall  be  home 
by  three  o'clock  ?  Will  you  come  and  drink  tea  with  me  ? 
and  I  will  endeavour  to  get  the  etc.  ready  for  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

S.  T.  C. 

L.   TO   ROBERT   SOUTHEY. 

October,  1795. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  It  would  argue  imbecility  and 
a  latent  wickedness  in  myself,  if  for  a  moment  I  doubted 
concerning  your  purposes  and  final  determination.  I 
write,  because  it  is  possible  that  I  may  suggest  some  idea 
to  you  which  should  find  a  place  in  your  answer  to  your 
uncle,  and  I  write,  because  in  a  letter  I  can  express 
myself  more  connectedly  than  in  conversation. 

The  former  part  of  Mr.  Hill's  reasonings  is  reducible 
to  this.  It  may  not  be  vicious  to  entertain  pure  and 
virtuous  sentiments ;  their  criminality  is  confined  to  the 
promulgation  (if  we  believe  democracy  to  be  pure  and 
virtuous,  to  us  it  is  so).  Southey  !  Pantisocracy  is  not 
the  question  :  its  realization  is  distant  —  perhaps  a  mirac- 
ulous millennium.  "What  you  have  seen,  or  think  that 
you  have  seen  of  the  human  heart,  may  render  the 
formation  even  of  a  pantisocratic  seminary  improbable  to 
you,  but  this  is  not  the  question.  Were  £300  a  year 
offered  to  you  as  a  man  of  the  world,  as  one  indifferent  to 
absolute  equality,  but  still  on  the  supposition  that  you 
were  commonly  honest,  I  suppose  it  possible  that  doubts 


1795]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  135 

might  arise;  your  mother,  your  brother,  your  Edith, 
would  all  crowd  upon  you,  and  certain  misery  might  be 
weighed  against  distant,  and  perhaps  unattainable  happi- 
ness. But  the  point  is,  whether  or  no  you  can  perjure 
yourself.  There  are  men  who  hold  the  necessity  and 
moral  optimism  of  our  religious  establishment.  Its  pecul- 
iar dogmas  they  may  disapprove,  but  of  innovation  they 
see  dreadful  and  unhealable  consequence ;  and  they  will 
not  quit  the  Church  for  a  few  follies  and  absurdities, 
any  more  than  for  the  same  reason  they  would  desert  a 
valued  friend.  Such  men  I  do  not  condemn.  Whatever  I 
may  deem  of  their  reasoning,  their  hearts  and  consciences 
I  include  not  in  the  anathema.  But  you  disapprove  of 
an  establishment  altogether ;  you  believe  it  iniquitous,  a 
mother  of  crimes.  It  is  impossible  that  you  could  uphold 
it  by  assuming  the  badge  of  affiliation. 

My  prospects  are  not  bright,  but  to  the  eye  of  reason  as 
bright  as  when  we  first  formed  our  plan  ;  nor  is  there  any 
opposite  inducement  offered,  of  which  you  were  not  then 
apprized,  or  had  cause  to  expect.  Domestic  happiness  is 
the  greatest  of  things  sublunary,  and  of  things  celestial 
it  is  impossible,  perhaps,  for  unassisted  man  to  believe 
anything  greater  ;  but  it  is  not  strange  that  those  things, 
which,  in  a  pure  form  of  society,  will  constitute  our  first 
blessings,  should  in  its  present  morbid  state  be  our  most 
perilous  temptations.  "He  that  doth  not  love  mother 
or  wife  less  than  me,  is  not  worthy  of  me  !  " 

This  have  I  written,  Southey,  altogether  disinterestedly. 
Your  desertion  or  adhesion  will  in  no  wise  affect  my  feel- 
ings, opinions,  or  conduct,  and  in  a  very  inconsiderable 
degree  my  fortunes  !  That  Being  who  is  "  in  will,  in 
deed,  Impulse  of  all  to  all,"  whichever  be  your  determi- 
nation, will  make  it  ultimately  the  best. 

God  love  you,  my  dear  Southey  ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


136  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

LI.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

Wednesday  evening,  October  7,  1795. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  God  bless  you ;  or  rather,  God  be 
praised  for  that  he  has  blessed  you  ! 

On  Sunday  morning  I  was  married  at  St.  Mary's  Red- 
cliff,  poor  Chatterton's  church!  The  thought  gave  a 
.  tinge  of  melancholy  to  the  solemn  joy  which  I  felt,  united 
to  the  woman  whom  I  love  best  of  all  created  beings. 
We  are  settled,  nay,  quite  domesticated,  at  Clevedon,  our 
comfortable  cot ! 

Mrs.  Coleridge  I  I  like  to  write  the  name.  Well, 
as  I  was  saying,  Mrs.  Coleridge  desires  her  affectionate 
regards  to  you.  I  talked  of  you  on  my  wedding  night. 
God  bless  you!  I  hope  that  some  ten  years  hence  you 
will  believe  and  know  of  my  affection  towards  you  what  I 
will  not  now  profess. 

The  prospect  around  is  perhaps  more  various  than  any 
in  the  kingdom.  Mine  eye  gluttonizes  the  sea,  the  dis- 
tant islands,  the  opposite  coast !  I  shall  assuredly  write 
rhymes,  let  the  nine  Muses  prevent  it  if  they  can.  Cruik- 
shank,  I  find,  is  married  to  Miss  Bucle.  I  am  happy  to 
hear  it.  He  will  surely,  I  hope,  make  a  good  husband  to 
a  woman,  to  whom  he  would  be  a  villain  who  should  make 
a  bad  one. 

I  have  given  up  all  thoughts  of  the  magazine,  for 
various  reasons.  Imprimis,  I  must  be  connected  with  R. 
Southey  in  it,  which  I  could  not  be  with  comfort  to  my 
feelings.  Secundo,  It  is  a  thing  of  monthly  anxiety  and 
quotidian  bustle.  Tertio,  It  would  cost  Cottle  an  hundred 
pounds  in  buying  paper,  etc.  —  all  on  an  uncertainty. 
Quarto,  To  publish  a  magazine  for  one  year  would  be 
nonsense,  and  if  I  pursue  what  I  mean  to  pursue,  my 
school  plan,  I  could  not  publish  it  for  more  than  a  year. 
Quinto,  Cottle  has  entered  into  an  engagement  to  give 
me  a  guinea  and  a  half  for  every  hundred  lines  of  poetry 


1795]  TO  EGBERT  SOUTHEY  137 

I  write,  which  will  be  perfectly  sufficient  for  my  main- 
tenance, I  only  amusing  myself  on  mornings ;  and  all 
my  prose  works  he  is  eager  to  purchase.  Sexto,  In  the 
course  of  half  a  year  I  mean  to  return  to  Cambridge 
(having  previously  taken  my  name  off  from  the  University 
control)  and  taking  lodgings  there  for  myself  and  wife, 
finish  my  great  work  of  "  Imitations,"  in  two  volumes. 
My  former  works  may,  I  hope,  prove  somewhat  of  genius 
and  of  erudition.  This  will  be  better ;  it  will  show  great 
industry  and  manly  consistency ;  at  the  end  of  it  I  shall 
publish  proposals  for  school,  etc.  Cottle  has  spent  a  day 
with  me,  and  takes  this  letter  to  Bristol.  My  next  will  be 
long,  and  full  of  something.  This  is  inanity  and  egotism. 
Pray  let  me  hear  from  you,  directing  the  letter  to  Mr. 
Cottle,  who  will  forward  it.  My  respectful  and  grateful 
remembrance  to  your  mother,  and  believe  me,  dear  Poole, 
your  affectionate  and  mindful  friend,  shall  I  so  soon  dare 
to  say?  Believe  me,  my  heart  prompts  it. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LII.    TO   ROBERT   SOUTHEY.1 

Friday  morning,  November  13,  1795. 

Southey,  I  have  lost  friends  —  friends  who  still  cherish 
for  me  sentiments  of  high  esteem  and  unextinguished  ten- 
derness. For  the  sum  total  of  my  misbehaviour,  the  Alpha 
and  Omega  of  their  accusations,  is  epistolary  neglect.  I 
never  speak  of  them  without  affection,  I  never  think  of 
them  without  reverence.  Not  "to  this  catalogue,"  Sou- 
they, have  I  "  added  your  name."  You  are  lost  to  me, 
because  you  are  lost  to  Virtue.  As  this  will  probably  be 
the  last  time  I  shall  have  occasion  to  address  you,  I  will 
begin  at  the  beginning  and  regularly  retrace  your  conduct 

1  This  farewell  letter  of  apology  original  MS.  is  written  on  small  fools- 

and  remonstrance  was  not  sent  by  cap.     A  first  draft,  or  copy,  of  the 

post,  but  must  have   reached  Sou-  letter  was  sent  to  Coleridge's  friend, 

they's  hand  on  the  13th  of  Novem-  Josiah  Wade, 
ber,  the  eve  of  his  wedding  day.  The 


138  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

and  my  own.  In  the  month  of  June,  1794, 1  first  became 
acquainted  with  your  person  and  character.  Before  I 
quitted  Oxford,  we  had  struck  out  the  leading  features  of 
a  pantisocracy.  While  on  my  journey  through  Wales  you 
invited  me  to  Bristol  with  the  full  hopes  of  realising  it. 
During  my  abode  at  Bristol  the  plan  was  matured,  and  I  re- 
turned to  Cambridge  hot  in  the  anticipation  of  that  happy 
season  when  we  should  remove  the  selfish  principle  from 
ourselves,  and  prevent  it  in  our  children,  by  an  abolition 
of  property ;  or,  in  whatever  respects  this  might  be  im- 
practicable, by  such  similarity  of  property  as  would  amount 
to  a  moral  sameness,  and  answer  all  the  purposes  of  abo- 
lition. Nor  were  you  less  zealous,  and  thought  and  ex- 
pressed your  opinion,  that  if  any  man  embraced  our  sys- 
tem he  must  comparatively  disregard  "his  father  and 
mother  and  wife  and  children  and  brethren  and  sisters, 
yea,  and  his  own  life  also,  or  he  could  not  be  our  disciple:" 
In  one  of  your  letters,  alluding  to  your  mother's  low  spir- 
its and  situation,  you  tell  me  that  "  I  cannot  suppose  any 
individual  feelings  will  have  an  undue  weight  with  you," 
and  in  the  same  letter  you  observe  (alas !  your  recent 
conduct  has  made  it  a  prophecy  !),  "  God  forbid  that  the 
ebullience  of  schematism  should  be  over.  It  is  the  Pro- 
methean fire  that  animates  my  soul,  and  when  that  is  gone 
all  will  be  darkness.  I  have  devoted  myself !  " 

Previously  to  my  departure  from  Jesus  College,  and 
during  my  melancholy  detention  in  London,  what  convul- 
sive struggles  of  feeling  I  underwent,  and  what  sacrifices 
I  made,  you  know.  The  liberal  proposal  from  my  family 
affected  me  no  further  than  as  it  pained  me  to  wound  a 
revered  brother  by  the  positive  and  immediate  refusal 
which  duty  compelled  me  to  return.  But  there  was  a  — 
I  need  not  be  particular ;  you  remember  what  a  fetter  I 
burst,  and  that  it  snapt  as  if  it  had  been  a  sinew  of  my 
heart.  However,  I  returned  to  Bristol,  and  my  addresses 
ij  to  Sara,  which  I  at  first  paid  from  principle,  not  feeling, 


1795]  TO   ROBERT   SOUTHEY  139 

from  feeling  and  from  principle  I  renewed ;  and  I  met  a 
reward  more  than  proportionate  to  the  greatness  of  the 
effort.  I  love  and  I  am  beloved,  and  I  am  happy ! 

Your  letter  to  Lovell  (two  or  three  days  after  my  arri- 
val at  Bristol),  in  answer  to  some  objections  of  mine  to 
the  Welsh  scheme,  was  the  first  thing  that  alarmed  me. 
Instead  of  "  It  is  our  duty,"  "  Such  and  such  are  the  rea- 
sons," it  was  "  I  and  I"  and  "  will  and  will,"  —  sentences 
of  gloomy  and  self-centering  resolve.  I  wrote  you  a 
friendly  reproof,  and  in  my  own  mind  attributed  this  un- 
wonted style  to  your  earnest  desires  of  realising  our  plan, 
and  the  angry  pain  which  you  felt  when  any  appeared  to 
oppose  or  defer  its  execution.  However,  I  came  over  to 
your  opinions  of  the  utility,  and,  in  course,  the  duty  of 
rehearsing  our  scheme  in  Wales,  and,  so,  rejected  the  offer 
of  being  established  in  the  Earl  of  Buchan's  family.  To 
this  period  of  our  connection  I  call  your  more  particular 
attention  and  remembrance,  as  I  shall  revert  to  it  at  the 
close  of  my  letter. 

We  commenced  lecturing.  Shortly  after,  you  began  to 
recede  in  your  conversation  from  those  broad  principles  in 
which  pantisocracy  originated.  I  opposed  you  with  vehe- 
mence, for  I  well  knew  that  no  notion  of  morality  or  its 
motives  could  be  without  consequences.  And  once  (it  was 
just  before  we  went  to  bed)  you  confessed  to  me  that  you 
had  acted  wrong.  But  you  relapsed ;  your  manner  be- 
came cold  and  gloomy,  and  pleaded  with  increased  perti- 
nacity for  the  wisdom  of  making  Self  an  undiverging  Cen- 
ter. At  Mr.  Jardine's l  your  language  was  strong  indeed. 
Recollect  it.  You  had  left  the  table,  and  we  were  stand- 
ing at  the  window.  Then  darted  into  my  mind  the  dread 
that  you  were  meditating  a  separation.  At  Chepstow* 

1  The  Rev.  David  Jardine,  Unita-  ered  in  a  blue  coat  and  white  waist- 
nan  minister  at  Bath.     Cottle  lays  coat,  in  Mr.  Jardine's  chapel  at  Bath, 
the   scene   of    the    "  inaugural   ser-  Early  Recollections,  i.  179. 
mons"  on  the  corn  laws  and  hair  2  If  we   may  believe  Cottle,  the 
powder  tax,  which  Coleridge  deliv-  dispute  began  by  Southey  attacking 


140  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

your  conduct  renewed  my  suspicion,  and  I  was  greatly 
agitated,  even  to  many  tears.  But  in  Peircefield  Walks 1 
you  assured  me  that  my  suspicions  were  altogether  un- 
founded, that  our  differences  were  merely  speculative,  and 
that  you  would  certainly  go  into  Wales.  I  was  glad  and 
satisfied.  For  my  heart  was  never  bent  from  you  but  by 
violent  strength,  and  heaven  knows  how  it  leapt  back  to 
esteem  and  love  you.  But  alas  !  a  short  time  passed  ere 
your  departure  from  our  first  principles  became  too  fla- 
grant. Remember  when  we  went  to  Ashton  2  on  the  straw- 
berry party.  Your  conversation  with  George  Burnett  on 
the  day  following  he  detailed  to  me.  It  scorched  my 
throat.  Your  private  resources  were  to  remain  your  indi- 
vidual property,  and  everything  to  be  separate  except  a 
farm  of  five  or  six  acres.  In  short,  we  were  to  commence 
partners  in  a  petty  farming  trade.  This  was  the  mouse 
of  which  the  mountain  Pantisocracy  was  at  last  safely  de- 
livered. I  received  the  account  with  indignation  and 
loathings  of  unutterable  contempt.  Such  opinions  were 
indeed  unassailable, — the  javelin  of  argument  and  the 
arrows  of  ridicule  would  have  been  equally  misapplied ;  a 
straw  would  have  wounded  them  mortally.  I  did  not  con- 
descend to  waste  my  intellect  upon  them ;  but  in  the  most 
express  terms  I  declared  to  George  Burnett  my  opinion 
(and,  Southey,  next  to  my  own  existence,  there  is  scarce 
any  fact  of  which  at  this  moment  I  entertain  less  doubt), 
to  Burnett  I  declared  it  to  be  my  opinion  "  that  you  had 
long  laid  a  plot  of  separation,  and  were  now  developing 
it  by  proposing  such  a  vile  mutilation  of  our  scheme  as 

Coleridge  for  his  non-appearance  at  pleasure,"  and  was,  no  doubt,  ren- 

a  lecture  which  he  had  undertaken  dered  doubly  sore  by  his  partner's 

to  deliver  in  his  stead.     The  scene  delinquency.      See    Early   Becollec- 

of  the  quarrel  is  laid  at  Chepstow,  on  tions,  i.  40,  41.    See,  also,  letter  from 

the  first  day  of  the  memorable  ex-  Southey  to  Bedford,  dated  May  28, 

cursion    to  Tintern  Abbey,  which  1795.      Life  and  Correspondence,  i. 

Cottle  had  planned  to  "  gratify  his  239. 

two  young  friends."     Southey  had  l  At  Chepstow. 

been  "  dragged,"  much  against  the  2  A  village  three  miles  W.  S.  W- 

grain,  into  this  "  detestable  party  of  of  Bristol. 


1795]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  141 

you  must  have  been  conscious  I  should  reject  decisively 
and  with  scorn."  George  Burnett  was  your  most  affec- 
tionate friend ;  I  knew  his  unbounded  veneration  for  you, 
his  personal  attachment ;  I  knew  likewise  his  gentle  dis- 
like of  me.  Yet  him  I  bade  be  the  judge.  I  bade  him 
choose  his  associate.  I  would  adopt  the  full  system  or  de- 
part. George,  I  presume,  detailed  of  this  my  conversa- 
tion what  part  he  chose ;  from  him,  however,  I  received 
your  sentiments,  viz. :  that  you  would  go  into  Wales,  or 
what  place  I  liked.  Thus  your  system  of  prudentials  and 
your  apostasy  were  not  sudden ;  these  constant  nibblings 
had  sloped  your  descent  from  virtue.  "  You  received  your 
uncle's  letter,"  I  said  —  "  what  answer  have  you  re- 
turned ?  "  For  to  think  with  almost  superstitious  venera- 
tion of  you  had  been  such  a  deep-rooted  habit  of  my  soul 
that  even  then  I  did  not  dream  you  could  hesitate  concern- 
ing so  infamous  a  proposal.  "  None,"  you  replied,  "  nor 
do  I  know  what  answer  I  shall  return."  You  went  to 
bed.  George  sat  half-  petrified,  gaping  at  the  pigmy  vir- 
tue of  his  supposed  giant.  I  performed  the  office  of  still- 
struggling  friendship  by  writing  you  my  free  sentiments 
concerning  the  enormous  guilt  of  that  which  your  uncle's 
doughty  sophistry  recommended. 

On  the  next  morning  I  walked  with  you  towards  Bath ; 
again  I  insisted  on  its  criminality.  You  told  me  that  you 
had  "little  notion  of  guilt,"  and  that  "you  had  a  pretty 
sort  of  lullabyjfaith  of  your  own."  Finding  you  invulner- 
able in  conscience,  for  the  sake  of  mankind  I  did  not,  how- 
ever, quit  the  field,  but  pressed  you  on  the  difficulties  of 
your  system.  Your  uncle's  intimacy  with  the  bishop,  and  • 
the  hush  in  which  you  would  lie  for  the  two  years  previous  j 
to  your  ordination,  were  the  arguments  (variously  urged 
in  a  long  and  desultory  conversation)  by  which  you  solved 
those  difficulties.  "  But  your  '  Joan  of  Arc '  —  the  senti- 
ments in  it  are  of  the  boldest  order.  What  if  the  suspi- 
cions of  the  Bishop  be  raised,  and  he  particularly  questions 


142  EAKLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

you  concerning  your  opinions  of  the  Trinity  and  the  Re- 
demption ?  "  "  Oh,"  you  replied,  "  I  am  pretty  well  up  to 
I  their  jargon,  and  shall  answer  them  accordingly."  In  fine, 
you  left  me  fully  persuaded  that  you  would  enter  into  Holy 
Orders.  And,  after  a  week's  interval  or  more,  you  desired 
George  Burnett  to  act  independently  of  you,  and  gave  him 
an  invitation  to  Oxford.  Of  course,  we  both  concluded 
that  the  matter  was  absolutely  determined.  Southey !  I 
am  not  besotted  that  I  should  not  know,  nor  hypocrite 
enough  not  to  tell  you,  that  you  were  diverted  from  being 
a  Priest  only  by  the  weight  of  infamy  which  you  perceived 
coming  towards  you  like  a  rush  of  waters. 

Then  with  good  reason  I  considered  you  as  one  fallen 
back  into  the  ranks  ;  as  a  man  admirable  for  his  abilities 
only,  strict,  indeed,  in  the  lesser  honesties,  but,  like  the 
majority  of  men,  unable  to  resist  a  strong  temptation. 
Friend  is  a  very  sacred  appellation.  You  were  become 
an  acquaintance,  yet  one  for  whom  I  felt  no  common 
tenderness.  I  could  not  forget  what  you  had  been.  Your 
sun  was  set ;  your  sky  was  clouded ;  but  those  clouds  and 
that  sky  were  yet  tinged  with  the  recent  sun.  As  I  con- 
sidered you,  so  I  treated  you.  I  studiously  avoided  all 
particular  subjects.  I  acquainted  you  with  nothing  rela- 
tive to  myself.  Literary  topics  engrossed  our  conversation. 
You  were  too  quick-sighted  not  to  perceive  it.  I  received 
a  letter  from  you.  "  You  have  withdrawn  your  confidence 
from  me,  Coleridge.  Preserving  still  the  face  of  friend- 
ship when  we  meet,  you  yet  avoid  me  and  carry  on  your 
plans  in  secrecy."  If  by  "  the  face  of  friendship  "  you 
meant  that  kindliness  which  I  show  to  all  because  I  feel 
it  for  all,  your  statement  was  perfectly  accurate.  If  you 
meant  more,  you  contradict  yourself;  for  you  evidently 
perceived  from  my  manners  that  you  were  a  "  weight  upon 
me  "  in  company  —  an  intruder,  unwished  and  unwelcome. 
I  pained  you  by  "  cold  civility,  the  shadow  which  friend- 
ship leaves  behind  him."  Since  that  letter  I  altered  my 


1795]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  143 

conduct  no  otherwise  than  by  avoiding  you  more.  I  still 
generalised,  and  spoke  not  of  myself,  except  my  proposed 
literary  works.  In  short,  I  spoke  to  you  as  I  should  have 
done  to  any  other  man  of  genius  who  had  happened  to  be 
my  acquaintance.  Without  the  farce  and  tumult  of  a  rup- 
ture I  wished  you  to  sink  into  that  class.  "  Face  to  face 
you  never  changed  your  manners  to  me."  And  yet  I  pained 
you  by  "cold  civility."  Egregious  contradiction  !  Doubt-, 
less  I  always  treated  you  with  urbanity,  and  meant  to  do  so ;  I 
but  I  locked  up  my  heart  from  you,  and  you  perceived  it,  I 
and  I  intended  you  to  perceive  it.  "  I  planned  works  in 
conjunction  with  you."  Most  certainly;  the  magazine 
which,  long  before  this,  you  had  planned  equally  with  me, 
and,  if  it  had  been  carried  into  execution,  would  of  course 
have  returned  you  a  third  share  of  the  profits.  What  had 
you  done  that  should  make  you  an  unfit  literary  associate 
to  me  ?  Nothing.  My  opinion  of  you  as  a  man  was  al-  j 
tered,  not  as  a  writer.  Our  Muses  had  not  quarrelled.  I 
should  have  read  your  poetry  with  equal  delight,  and  cor- 
rected it  with  equal  zeal  if  correction  it  needed.  "  I  re- 
ceived you  on  my  return  from  Shurton  with  my  usual 
shake  of  the  hand."  You  gave  me  your  hand,  and  dread- 
ful must  have  been  my  feelings  if  I  had  refused  to  take  it. 
Indeed,  so  long  had  I  known  you,  so  highly  venerated,  so 
dearly  loved  you,  that  my  hand  would  have  taken  yours 
mechanically.  But  is  shaking  the  hand  a  mark  oi  friend- 
ship ?  Heaven  forbid  !  I  should  then  be  a  hypocrite 
many  days  in  the  week.  It  is  assuredly  the  pledge  of  ac- 
quaintance, and  nothing  more.  But  after  this  did  I  not 
with  most  scrupulous  care  avoid  you  ?  You  know  I  did. 

In  your  former  letters  you  say  that  I  made  use  of  these 
words  to  you:  "You  will  be  retrograde  that  you  may 
spring  the  farther  forward."  You  have  misquoted, 
Southey !  You  had  talked  of  rejoining  pantisocracy  in 
about  fourteen  years.  I  exploded  this  probability,  but  as  I 
saw  you  determined  to  leave  it,  hoped  and  wished  it  might 


144  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

be  so  —  hoped  that  we  might  run  backwards  only  to  leap 
forward.  Not  to  mention  that  during  that  conversation 
I  had  taken  the  weight  and  pressing  urgency  of  your 
motives  as  truths  granted ;  but  when,  on  examination,  I 
found  them  a  show  and  mockery  of  unreal  things,  doubt- 
less, my  opinion  of  you  must  have  become  far  less  re- 
spectful. You  quoted  likewise  the  last  sentence  of  my 
letter  to  you,  as  a  proof  that  I  approved  of  your  design  ; 
you  knew  that  sentence  to  imply  no  more  than  the  pious 
confidence  of  optimism  —  however  wickedly  you  might 
act,  God  would  make  it  ultimately  the  best.  You  knew 
this  was  the  meaning  of  it  —  I  could  find  twenty  parallel 
passages  in  the  lectures.  Indeed,  such  expressions  applied 
to  bad  actions  had  become  a  habit  of  my  conversation.  You 
had  named,  not  unwittingly,  Dr.  Pangloss.  And  Heaven 
forbid  that  I  should  not  now  have  faith  that  however 
foul  your  stream  may  run  here,  yet  that  it  will  filtrate 
and  become  pure  in  its  subterraneous  passage  to  the  Ocean 
of  Universal  Redemption. 

Thus  far  had  I  written  when  the  necessities  of  literary 
occupation  crowded  upon  me,  and  I  met  you  in  Eedcliff, 
and,  unsaluted  and  unsaluting,  passed  by  the  man  to 
whonTIor  almost  a  year  I  had  told  my  last  thoughts  when 
I  closed  my  eyes,  and  the  first  when  I  awoke,  But  "  ere 
this  I  have  felt  sorrow  !  " 

I  shall  proceed  to  answer  your  letters,  and  first  ex- 
criminate  myself,  and  then  examine  your  conduct.  You 
charge  me  with  having  industriously  trumpeted  your 
uncle's  letter.  When  I  mentioned  my  intended  journey 
to  Clevedon  with  Burnett,  and  was  asked  by  my  immedi- 
ate friends  why  you  were  not  with  us,  should  I  have  been 
silent  and  implied  something  mysterious,  or  have  told  an 
open  untruth  and  made  myself  your  accomplice  ?  I  could 
do  neither  ;  I  answered  that  you  were  quite  undetermined, 
but  had  some  thoughts  of  returning  to  Oxford.  To  Dan- 
vers,  indeed,  and  to  Cottle  I  spoke  more  particularly,  for 


1795]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  145 

I  knew  their  prudence  and  their  love  for  you  —  and  my 
heart  was  very  full.  But  to  Mrs.  Morgan  I  did  not 
mention  it.  She  met  me  in  the  streets,  and  said :  "  So ! 
Southey  is  going  into  the  Church !  'T  is  all  concluded,  't  is 
in  vain  to  deny  it !  "  I  answered :  "  You  are  mistaken  ; 
you  must  contradict ;  Southey  has  received  a  splendid 
offer,  but  he  has  not  determined."  This,  I  have  some 
faint  recollection,  was  my  answer,  but  of  this  particular 
conversation  my  recollection  is  very  faint.  By  what 
means  she  received  the  intelligence  I  know  not ;  probably 
from  Mrs.  Richardson,  who  might  have  been  told  it  by 
Mr.  Wade.  A  considerable  time  after,  the  subject  was 
renewed  at  Mrs.  Morgan's,  Burnett  and  my  Sara  being 
present.  Mrs.  M.  told  me  that  you  had  asserted  to  her, 
that  with  regard  to  the  Church  you  had  barely  hesitated, 
that  you  might  consider  your  uncle's  arguments,  that 
you  had  given  up  no  one  principle  —  and  that  /  was 
more  your  friend  than  ever.  I  own  I  was  roused  to  an 
agony  of  passion ;  nor  was  George  Burnett  undisturbed. 
Whatever  I  said  that  afternoon  (and  since  that  time  I 
have  but  often  repeated  what  I  said,  in  gentler  language) 
George  Burnett  did  give  his  decided  Amen  to.  And  I 
said,  Southey,  that  you  had  given  up  every  principle  — 
that  confessedly  you  were  going  into  the  law,  more  oppo- 
site to  your  avowed  principles,  if  possible,  than  even  the 
Church  —  and  that  I  had  in  my  pocket  a  letter  in  which 
you  charged  me  with  having  withdrawn  my  friendship ; 
and  as  to  your  barely  hesitating  about  your  uncle's  pro- 
posal, I  was  obliged  in  my  own  defence  to  relate  all  that 
passed  between  us,  all  on  which  I  had  founded  a  convic- 
tion so  directly  opposite. 

I  have,  you  say,  distorted  your  conversation  by  "  gross 
misrepresentation  and  wicked  and  calumnious  falsehoods. 
It  has  been  told  me  by  Mrs.  Morgan  that  I  said  :  '  I  have 
seen  my  error !     I   have  been  drunk  with  principle ! ' ' 
Just  over  the  bridge,  at  the  bottom  of  the  High  Street, 


146  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [Nov. 

returning  one  night  from  Redcliff  Hill,  in  answer  to  my 
pressing  contrast  of  your  then  opinions  of  the  selfish 
kind  with  what  you  had  formerly  professed,  you  said  :  "  I 
was  intoxicated  with  the  novelty  of  a  system !  "  That  you 
said,  "  I  have  seen  my  error,"  I  never  asserted.  It  is 
doubtless  implied  in  the  sentence  which  you  did  say,  but 
I  never  charged  it  to  you  as  your  expression.  As  to  your 
reserving  bank  bills,  etc.,  to  yourself,  the  charge  would 
have  been  so  palpable  a  lie  that  I  must  have  been  mad- 
man as  well  as  villain  to  have  been  guilty  of  it.  If  I 
had,  George  Burnett  and  Sara  would  have  contradicted 
it.  I  said  that  your  conduct  in  little  things  had  appeared 
to  me  tinged  with  selfishness,  and  George  Burnett  at- 
tributed, and  still  does  attribute,  your  defection  to  your 
unwillingness  to  share  your  expected  annuity  with  us. 
As  to  the  long  catalogue  of  other  lies,  they  not  being 
particularised,  I,  of  course,  can  say  nothing  about  them. 
Tales  may  have  been  fetched  and  carried  with  embellish- 
ments calculated  to  improve  them  in  everything  but  the 
truth.  I  spoke  "  the  plain  and  simple  truth  "  alone. 

And  now  for  your  conduct  and  motives.  My  hand 
trembles  when  I  think  what  a  series  of  falsehood  and 
duplicity  I  am  about  to  bring  before  the  conscience  of 
a  man  who  has  dared  to  write  me  that  "  his  conduct  has 
been  uniformly  open."  I  must  revert  to  your  first  letter, 
and  here  you  say  :  — 

"  The  plan  you  are  going  upon  is  not  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  justify  me  to  myself  in  abandoning  a  family, 
who  have  none  to  support  them  but  me."  The  plan  you 
are  going  upon !  What  plan  was  I  meditating,  save  to 
retire  into  the  country  with  George  Burnett  and  yourself, 
and  taking  by  degrees  a  small  farm,  there  be  learning 
to  get  my  own  bread  by  my  bodily  labour  —  and  then  to 
have  all  things  in  common  —  thus  disciplining  my  body 
and  mind  for  the  successful  practice  of  the  same  thing 
in  America  with  more  numerous  associates  ?  And  even  if 


1795]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  147 

this  should  never  be  the  case,  ourselves  and  our  children 
would  form  a  society  sufficiently  large.  And  was  not 
this  your  own  plan  —  the  plan  for  the  realising  of  which 
you  invited  me  to  Bristol ;  the  plan  for  which  I  abandoned 
my  friends,  and  every  prospect,  and  every  certainty,  and 
the  woman  whom  I  loved  to  an  excess  which  you  in  your 
warmest  dream  of  fancy  could  never  shadow  out  ?  When 
I  returned  from  London,  when  you  deemed  pantisocracy 
a  duty  —  duty  unaltered  by  numbers  —  when  you  said, 
that,  if  others  left  it,  you  and  George  Burnett  and  your 
brother  would  stand  firm  to  the  post  of  virtue  —  what  then 
were  our  circumstances?  Saving  Lovell,  our  number 
was  the  same,  yourself  and  Burnett  and  I.  Our  pros- 
pects were  only  an  uncertain  hope  of  getting  thirty  shil- 
lings a  week  between  us  by  writing  for  some  London 
paper  —  for  the  remainder  we  were  to  rely  on  our  agri- 
cultural exertions.  And  as  to  your  family  you  stood 
precisely  in  the  same  situation  as  you  now  stand.  You 
meant  to  take  your  mother  with  you,  and  your  brother. 
And  where,  indeed,  would  have  been  the  difficulty  ?  She 
would  have  earned  her  maintenance  by  her  management 
and  savings  —  considering  the  matter  even  in  this  cold- 
hearted  way.  But  when  you  broke  from  us  our  prospects 
were  brightening ;  by  the  magazine  or  by  poetry  we  might 
and  should  have  got  ten  guineas  a  month. 

But  if  you  are  acting  right,  I  should  be  acting  right  in 
imitating  you.  What,  then,  would  George  Burnett  do  — 
he  "  whom  you  seduced 

"  With  other  promises  and  other  vaunts 
Than  to  repent,  boasting  you  could  subdue 
Temptation !  " 

He  cannot  go  into  the  Church,  for  you  did  "  give  him 
principles  " !  and  I  wish  that  you  had  indeed  "  learnt 
from  him  how  infinitely  more  to  be  valued  is  integrity  of 
heart  than  effulgence  of  intellect."  Nor  can  he  go  into 
the  law,  for  the  same  principles  declare  against  it,  and  he 


148  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

is  not  calculated  for  it.  And  his  father  will  not  support 
any  expense  of  consequence  relative  to  his  further  educa- 
tion —  for  Law  or  Physic  he  could  not  take  his  degree  in, 
or  be  called  to,  without  sinking  of  many  hundred  pounds. 
What,  Southey,  was  George  Burnett  to  do  ? 

Then,  even  if  you  had  persisted  in  your  design  of  taking 
Orders,  your  motives  would  have  been  weak  and  shadowy 
and  vile  ;  but  when  you  changed  your  ground  for  the  Law 
they  were  annihilated.  No  man  dreams  of  getting  bread 
in  the  Law,  till  six  or  eight  years  after  his  first  entrance 

/  at  the  Temple.  And  how  very  few  even  then  ?  Before 
this  time  your  brothers  would  have  been  put  out,  and  the 
money  which  you  must  of  necessity  have  sunk  in  a  wicked 
profession  would  have  given  your  brother  an  education, 
and  provided  a  premium  fit  for  the  first  coinpting-house  in 
the  world.  But  I  hear  that  you  have  again  changed  your 
ground.  You  do  not  now  mean  to  study  the  Law,  but  to 
maintain  yourself  by  your  writings  and  on  your  promised 
annuity,  which,  you  told  Mrs.  Morgan,  would  be  more 
than  a  hundred  a  year.  Could  you  not  have  done  the 
same  with  us  ?  I  neither  have  nor  could  deign  to  have  a 
hundred  a  year.  Yet  by  my  own  exertions  I  will  struggle 
hard  to  maintain  myself,  and  my  wife,  and  my  wife's 
mother  and  my  associate.  Or  what  if  you  dedicated  this 
hundred  a  year  to  your  family  ?  Would  you  not  be  pre- 
cisely as  I  am  ?  Is  not  George  Burnett  accurate  when  he 
undoubtedly  ascribes  your  conduct  to  an  unparticipating 
propensity  —  to  a  total  want  of  the  boasted  flocci-nauci- 
nifnii-pilificating  sense  ?  O  selfish,  money-loving  man ! 
What  principle  have  you  not  given  up  ?  Though  death  had 
been  the  consequence,  I  would  have  spat  in  that  man's 
face  and  called  him  liar,  who  should  have  spoken  that  last 
sentence  concerning  you  nine  months  ago.  For  blindly 
did  I  esteem  you.  O  God!  that  such  a  mind  should  fall 

I  in  love  with  that  low,  dirty,  gutter-grubbing  trull,  Worldly 
Prudence  I 


1795]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  149 

Curse  on  all  pride  !  'T  is  a  harlot  that  buckrams  her- 
self  up  in  virtue  only  that  she  may  fetch  a  higher  price. 
'Tis  a  rock  where  virtue  may  be  planted,  but  cannot 
strike  root. 

Last  of  all,  perceiving  that  your  motives  vanished  at 
the  first  ray  of  examination,  and  that  those  accounts  of 
your  mother  and  family  which  had  drawn  easy  tears 
down  wrinkled  cheeks  had  no  effect  on  keener  minds, 
your  last  resource  has  been  to  calumniate  me.  If  there  be 
in  nature  a  situation  perilous  to  honesty,  it  is  this,  when  a 
man  has  not  heart  to  6e,  yet  lusts  to  seem  virtuous.  My 
indolence  you  assigned  to  Lovell  as  the  reason  for  your 
quitting  pantisocracy.  Supposing  it  true,  it  might  in- 
deed be  a  reason  for  rejecting  me  from  the  system.  But 
how  does  this  affect  pantisocracy,  that  you  should  reject 
it  ?  And  what  has  Burnett  done,  that  he  should  not  be 
a  worthy  associate  ?  He  who  leaned  on  you  with  all  his 
head  and  with  all  his  heart ;  he  who  gave  his  all  for 
pantisocracy,  and  expected  that  pantisocracy  would  be  at 
least  bread  and  cheese  to  him.  But  neither  is  the  charge 
a  true  one.  My  own  lectures  I  wrote  for  myself,  eleven 
in  number,  excepting  a  very  few  pages  which  most  reluc- 
tantly you  eked  out  for  me.  And  such  pages !  I  would 
not  have  suffered  them  to  have  stood  in  a  lecture  of  yours. 
To  your  lectures  I  dedicated  my  whole  mind  and  heart, 
and  wrote  one  half  in  quantity  ;  but  in  quality  you  must 
be  conscious  that  all  the  tug  of  brain  was  mine,  and  that 
your  share  was  little  more  than  transcription.  I  wrote 
with  vast  exertion  of  all  my  intellect  the  parts  in  the 
"  Joan  of  Arc,"  and  I  corrected  that  and  other  poems 
with  greater  interest  than  I  should  have  felt  for  my  own. 
Then  my  own  poems,  and  the  recomposing  of  my  lectures, 
besides  a  sermon,  and  the  correction  of  some  poems  for  a 
friend.  I  could  have  written  them  in  half  the  time  and 
with  less  expense  of  thought.  I  write  not  these  things 
boastfully,  but  to  excriminate  myself.  The  truth  is,  you 


150  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [JAN. 

sat  down  and  wrote ;  I  used  to  saunter  about  and  think 
what  I  should  write.  And  we  ought  to  appreciate  our 
comparative  industry  by  the  quantum  of  mental  exertion, 
not  the  particular  mode  of  it  —  by  the  number  of  thoughts 
collected,  not  by  the  number  of  lines  through  which  these 
thoughts  are  diffused.  But  I  will  suppose  myself  guilty 
of  the  charge.  How  would  an  honest  man  have  reasoned 
in  your  letter  and  how  acted  ?  Thus :  "  Here  is  a  man 
who  has  abandoned  all  for  what  I  believe  to  be  virtue. 
But  he  professed  himself  an  imperfect  being  when  he 
offered  himself  an  associate  to  me.  He  confessed  that  all 
his  valuable  qualities  were  'sloth-jaundiced,'  and  in  his 
letters  is  a  bitter  self-accuser.  This  man  did  not  deceive 
me.  I  accepted  of  him  in  the  hopes  of  curing  him,  but  I 
half  despair  of  it.  How  shall  I  act?  I  will  tell  him 
fully  and  firmly,  that  much  as  I  love  him  I  love  pantiso- 
cracy  more,  and  if  in  a  certain  time  I  do  not  see  this  dis- 
qualifying propensity  subdued,  I  must  and  will  reject 
him."  Such  would  have  been  an  honest  man's  reasoning, 
such  his  conduct.  Did  you  act  so  ?  Did  you  even  men- 
tion to  me,  "  face  to  face,"  my  indolence  as  a  motive  for 
your  recent  conduct  ?  Did  you  ever  mention  it  in  Peirce- 
field  Walks  ?  and  some  time  after,  that  night  when  you 
scattered  some  heart-chilling  sentiments,  and  in  great 
agitation  I  did  ask  you  solemnly  whether  you  disapproved 
t.  of  anything  in  my  conduct,  and  you  answered,  "  Nothing. 
I  I  like  you  better  now  than  at  the  commencement  of  our 
I  friendship !  "  an  answer  which  so  startled  Sara,  that  she 
f  affronted  you  into  angry  silence  by  exclaiming,  "  What 
a  story  !  "  George  Burnett,  I  believe,  was  present.  This 
happened  after  all  our  lectures,  after  every  one  of  those 
proofs  of  indolence  on  which  you  must  found  your  charge. 
A  charge  which  with  what  indignation  did  you  receive 
when  brought  against  me  by  Lovell !  Yet  then  there  was 
some  shew  for  it.  I  had  been  criminally  indolent.  But 
since  then  I  have  exerted  myself  more  than  I  could  have 


1796]  TO  JOSIAH  WADE  151 

supposed  myself  capable.  Enough!  I  heard  for  the 
first  time  on  Thursday  that  you  were  to  set  off  for  Lisbon 
on  Saturday  morning.  It  gives  me  great  pain  on  many 
accounts,  but  principally  that  those  moments  which  should 
be  sacred  to  your  affections  may  be  disturbed  by  this 
long  letter. 

Southey,  as  far  as  happiness  will  be  conducive  to  your 
^virtue,  which  alone  is  final  happiness,  may  you  possess  it ! 
You  have  left  a  large  void  in  my  heart.  I  know  no  man 
big  enough  to  fill  it.  Others  I  may  love  equally,  and 
esteem  equally,  and  some  perhaps  I  may  admire  as  much. 
But  never  do  I  expect  to  meet  another  man,  who  will 
make  me  unite  attachment  for  his  person  with  reverence 
for  his  heart  and  admiration  of  his  genius.  I  did  not 
only  venerate  you  for  your  own  virtues,  I  prized  you  as 
the  sheet-anchor  of  mine  ;  and  even  as  a  poet  my  vanity 
knew  no  keener  gratification  than  your  praise.  But  these 
things  are  passed  by  like  as  when  a  hungry  man  dreams, 
and  lo !  he  f easteth,  but  he  awakes  and  his  soul  is  empty. 

May  God  Almighty  bless  and  preserve  you !  and  may 
you  live  to  know  and  feel  and  acknowledge  that  unless 
we  accustom  ourselves  to  meditate  adoringly  on  Him,  the 
source  of  all  virtue,  no  virtue  can  be  permanent. 

Be  assured  that  G.  Burnett  still  loves  you  better  than 
he  can  love  any  other  man,  and  Sara  would  have  you 
accept  her  love  and  blessing ;  accept  it  as  the  future  hus- 
band of  her  best  loved  sister.  Farewell ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LIII.    TO   JOSIAH   WADE.1 

NOTTINGHAM,  Wednesday  morning,  January  27,  1796. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  You  will  perceive  by  this  letter 
that  I  have  changed  my  route.  From  Birmingham,  which 

1  During  the  course  of  his  tour  ridge  wrote  seven  times  to  Josiah 
(January-February,  1796)  to  procure  Wade.  Portions  of  these  letters 
subscribers  for  the  Watchman,  Cole-  have  been  published  in  Cottle's  Early 


152  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [JAN. 

I  quitted  on  Friday  last  (four  o'clock  in  the  morning),  I 
proceeded  to  Derby,  stayed  there  till  Monday  morning,  and 
am  now  at  Nottingham.  From  Nottingham  I  go  to  Shef- 
field ;  from  Sheffield  to  Manchester  ;  from  Manchester  to 
Liverpool ;  from  Liverpool  to  London ;  from  London  to 
Bristol.  Ah,  what  a  weary  way !  My  poor  crazy  ark  has 
been  tossed  to  and  fro  on  an  ocean  of  business,  and  I  long 
for  the  Mount  Ararat  on  which  it  is  to  rest.  At  Bir- 
mingham I  was  extremely  unwell.  .  .  .  Business  succeeded 
very  well  there ;  about  an  hundred  subscribers,  I  think. 
At  Derby  tolerably  well.  Mr.  Strutt  (the  successor  to 
Sir  Richard  Arkwright)  tells  me  I  may  count  on  forty  or 
fifty  in  Derby  and  round  about. 

Derby  is  full  of  curiosities,  the  cotton,  the  silk  mills, 
Wright,1  the  painter,  and  Dr.  Darwin,  the  everything,  ex- 
cept the  Christian  ! 2  Dr.  Darwin  possesses,  perhaps,  a 
greater  range  of  knowledge  than  any  other  man  in  Europe, 
and  is  the  most  inventive  of  philosophical  men.  He  thinks 
in  a  new  train  on  all  subjects  except  religion.  He  ban- 
tered me  on  the  subject  of  religion.  I  heard  all  his  argu- 
ments, and  told  him  that  it  was  infinitely  consoling  to 
me,  to  find  that  the  arguments  which  so  great  a  man  ad- 
duced against  the  existence  of  a  God  and  the  evidences 
of  revealed  religion  were  such  as  had  startled  me  at  fif- 
teen, but  had  become  the  objects  of  my  smile  at  twenty. 
Not  one  new  objection  —  not  even  an  ingenious  one. 

Recollections,  i.  164-176,  and  in  the  periment  with  the  Air  Pump,  was  pre- 

"  Biographical  Supplement "  to  the  sented   to   the   National   Gallery  in 

Biographia    Literaria,   ii.   349-354.  1863. 

It  is  probable  that  Wade  supplied  2  Compare  Biogi-aphia  Literaria, 
funds  for  the  journey,  and  that  Cole-  ch.  i.  "  During  my  first  Cambridge 
ridge  felt  himself  bound  to  give  an  vacation  I  assisted  a  friend  in  a  con- 
account  of  his  progress  and  success,  tribution  for  a  literary  society  in 
1  Joseph  Wright,  A  R.  A.,  known  Devonshire,  and  in  that  I  remember 
as  Wright  of  Derby,  1736-1797.  to  have  compared  Darwin's  works  to 
Two  of  his  most  celebrated  pictures  the  Russian  palace  of  ice,  glittering, 
were  The  Head  of  Ulleswater,  and  cold,  and  transitory."  Coleridge's 
The  Dead  Soldier.  An  excellent  Works,  Harper  &  Bros.,  1853,  iii. 
specimen  of  Wright's  work,  An  Ex-  155. 


1796]  TO  JOSIAH  WADE  153 

He  boasted  that  he  had  never  read  one  book  in  defence 
of  such  stuff,  but  he  had  read  all  the  works  of  infidels ! 
What  should  you  think,  Mr.  Wade,  of  a  man,  who,  hav- 
ing abused  and  ridiculed  you,  should  openly  declare  that 
he  had  heard  all  that  your  enemies  had  to  say  against 
you,  but  had  scorned  to  enquire  the  truth  from  any  of 
your  own  friends  ?  Would  you  think  him  an  honest 
man  ?  I  am  sure  you  would  not.  Yet  of  such  are  all 
the  infidels  with. whom  I  have  met.  They  talk  of  a  sub- 
ject infinitely  important,  yet  are  proud  to  confess  them- 
selves profoundly  ignorant  of  it.  Dr.  Darwin  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  have  rejected  Hutton's  theory  of  the 
earth l  without  having  minutely  examined  it ;  yet  what 
is  it  to  us  how  the  earth  was  made,  a  thing  impossible 
to  be  known,  and  useless  if  known?  This  system  the 
doctor  did  not  reject  without  having  severely  studied  it ; 
but  all  at  once  he  makes  up  his  mind  on  such  impor- 
tant subjects,  as  whether  we  be  the  outcasts  of  a  blind 
idiot  called  Nature,  or  the  children  of  an  all-wise  and 
infinitely  good  God ;  whether  we  spend  a  few  miserable 
years  on  this  earth,  and  then  sink  into  a  clod  of  the  val- 
ley, or  only  endure  the  anxieties  of  mortal  life  in  order 
to  fit  us  for  the  enjoyment  of  immortal  happiness.  These 
subjects  are  unworthy  a  philosopher's  investigation.  He 
deems  that  there  is  a  certain  self-evidence  in  infidelity, 
and  becomes  an  atheist  by  intuition.  Well  did  St.  Paul 
say:  "Ye  have  an  evil  heart  of  unbelief."  I  had  an 
introductory  letter  from  Mr.  Strutt  to  a  Mr.  Fellowes  of 
Nottingham.  On  Monday  evening  when  I  arrived  I  found 
there  was  a  public  dinner  in  honour  of  Mr.  Fox's  birthday, 
and  that  Mr.  Fellowes  was  present.  It  was  a  piece  of 
famous  good  luck,  and  I  seized  it,  waited  on  Mr.  Fel- 
lowes, and  was  introduced  to  the  company.  On  the  right 
hand  of  the  president  whom  should  I  see  but  an  old  Col- 

1  Dr.  James  Hutton,  the  author  of    the  Earth  was  published   at  Edin- 
the  Plutonian  theory.    His  Theory  of    burgh  in  1795. 


154  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [MARCH 

lege  acquaintance  ?  He  hallooed  out :  "  Coleridge,  by 
God !  "  Mr.  Wright,  the  president  of  the  day,  was  his 
relation  —  a  man  of  immense  fortune.  I  dined  at  his 
house  yesterday,  and  underwent  the  intolerable  slavery  of 
a  dinner  of  three  courses.  We  sat  down  at  four  o'clock, 
and  it  was  six  before  the  cloth  was  removed. 

What  lovely  children  Mr.  Barr  at  Worcester  has! 
After  church,  in  the  evening,  they  sat  round  and  sang 
hymns  so  sweetly  that  they  overwhelmed  me.  It  was 
with  great  difficulty  I  abstained  from  weeping  aloud  — 
and  the  infant  in  Mrs.  Barr's  arms  leaned  forwards, 
and  stretched  his  little  arms,  and  stared  and  smiled.  It 
seemed  a  picture  of  Heaven,  where  the  different  orders  of 
the  blessed  join  different  voices  in  one  melodious  allelu- 
jah;  and  the  baby  looked  like  a  young  spirit  just  that 
moment  arrived  in  Heaven,  startling  at  the  seraphic  songs, 
and  seized  at  once  with  wonder  and  rapture. 

My  kindest  remembrances  to  Mrs.  Wade,  and  believe 
me,  with  gratitude  and  unfeigned  friendship,  your 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LIV.    TO   JOSEPH   COTTLE. 

REDCLIFF  HILL,  February  22,  1796. 

MY  DEAE  SlR,  —  It  is  my  duty  and  business  to  thank 
God  for  all  his  dispensations,  and  to  believe  them  the  best 
possible ;  but,  indeed,  I  think  I  should  have  been  more 
thankful,  if  he  had  made  me  a  journeyman  shoemaker, 
instead  of  an  author  by  trade.  I  have  left  my  friends  ;  I 
have  left  plenty ;  I  have  left  that  ease  which  would  have 
secured  a  literary  immortality,  and  have  enabled  me  to 
give  the  public  works  conceived  in  moments  of  inspira- 
tion, and  polished  with  leisurely  solicitude ;  and  alas !  for 

what  have  I  left  them  ?  for who  deserted  me  in  the 

hour  of  distress,  and  for  a  scheme  of  virtue  impracticable 
and  romantic !  So  I  am  forced  to  write  for  bread  ;  write 
the  flights  of  poetic  enthusiasm,  when  every  minute  I  am 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  155 

hearing  a  groan  from  my  wife.  Groans,  and  complaints, 
and  sickness !  The  present  hour  I  am  in  a  quick-set 
hedge  of  embarrassment,  and  whichever  way  I  turn  a 
thorn  runs  into  me  !  The  future  is  cloud  and  thick  dark- 
ness !  Poverty,  perhaps,  and  the  thin  faces  of  them  that 
want  bread,  looking  up  to  me !  Nor  is  this  all.  My  hap- 
piest moments  for  composition  are  broken  in  upon  by  the 
reflection  that  I  must  make  haste.  I  am  too  late  !  I  am 
already  months  behind !  I  have  received  my  pay  before- 
hand !  Oh,  wayward  and  desultory  spirit  of  genius  !  Ill 
canst  thou  brook  a  taskmaster  !  The  tenderest  touch 
from  the  hand  of  obligation  wounds  thee  like  a  scourge 
of  scorpions. 

I  have  been  composing  in  the  fields  this  morning,  and 
came  home  to  write  down  the  first  rude  sheet  of  my  pref- 
ace, when  I  heard  that  your  man  had  brought  a  note 
from  you.  I  have  not  seen  it,  but  I  guess  its  contents. 
I  am  writing  as  fast  as  I  can.  Depend  on  it  you  shall 
not  be  out  of  pocket  for  me  !  I  feel  what  I  owe  you,  and 
independently  of  this  I  love  you  as  a  friend ;  indeed,  so 
much,  that  I  regret,  seriously  regret,  that  you  have  been 
my  copyholder. 

If  I  have  written  petulantly,  forgive  me.  God  knows 
I  am  sore  all  over.  God  bless  you,  and  believe  me  that, 
setting  gratitude  aside,  I  love  and  esteem  you,  and  have 
your  interest  at  heart  full  as  much  as  my  own. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LV.    TO  THOMAS   POOLE. 

March  30,  1796. 

MY  DEAR  POOLE,  —  For  the  neglect  in  the  transmis- 
sion of  "  The  Watchman,"  you  must  blame  George  Bur- 
nett, who  undertook  the  business.  I  however  will  myself 
see  it  sent  this  week  with  the  preceding  numbers.  I  am 
greatly  obliged  to  you  for  your  communication  (on  the 
Slave  Trade  in  No.  V.)  ;  it  appears  in  this  number,  and 


156  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [MARCH 

I  am  anxious  to  receive  more  from  you,  and  likewise  to 
know  what  you  dislike  in  "  The  Watchman,"  and  what 
you  like;  but  particularly  the  former.  You  have  not 
given  me  your  opinion  of  "  The  Plot  Discovered." 1 

Since  last  you  saw  me  I  have  been  well  nigh  distracted. 
The  repeated  and  most  injurious  blunders  of  my  printer 
out-of-doors,  and  Mrs.  Coleridge's  increasing  danger  at 
home,  added  to  the  gloomy  prospect  of  so  many  mouths 
to  open  and  shut  like  puppets,  as  I  move  the  string  in  the 
eating  and  drinking  way  — but  why  complain  to  you? 
Misery  is  an  article  with  which  every  market  is  so  glutted, 
that  it  can  answer  no  one's  purpose  to  export  it.  Alas  ! 
Alas  I  oh!  ah!  oh  I  oh!  etc. 

I  have  received  many  abusive  letters,  post-paid,  thanks 
to  the  friendly  malignants !  But  I  am  perfectly  callous 
to  disapprobation,  except  when  it  tends  to  lessen  profit. 
There,  indeed,  I  am  all  one  tremble  of  sensibility,  mar- 
I  riage  having  taught  me  the  wonderful  uses  of  that  vulgar 
*  commodity,  yclept  bread.  "  The  Watchman  "  succeeds 
so  as  to  yield  a  bread-and-cheesish  profit.  Mrs.  Coleridge 
is  recovering  apace,  and  deeply  regrets  that  she  was  de- 
prived of  seeing  [you] .  We  are  in  our  new  house,  where 
there  is  a  bed  at  your  service  whenever  you  will  please  to 
delight  us  with  a  visit.  Surely  in  spring  you  might  force 
a  few  days  into  a  sojourning  with  me. 

Dear  Poole,  you  have  borne  yourself  towards  me  most 
kindly  with  respect  to  my  epistolary  ingratitude.  But  I 
know  that  you  forbade  yourself  to  feel  resentment  towards 
me  because  you  had  previously  made  my  neglect  ingrati- 
tude. A  generous  temper  endures  a  great  deal  from  one 
whom  it  has  obliged  deeply. 

My  poems  are  finished.     I  will  send  you  two  copies  the 

1  The  title  of  this  pamphlet,  which  It  had  an  outer  wrapper  with  this 

was  published  shortly  after  the  Con-  half-title :    "  A  Protest  against  Cer-j 

clones  ad  Populum,  was  "  The  Plot  tain  Wills.     Bristol :  Printed  for  the! 

Discovered;  or,  an  Address  to  the  Author,  November  28,  1795."     It  is 

People  against  Ministerial  Treason,  reprinted    in   Essays   on   His    Own 

By  S.  T.  Coleridge.     Bristol,  1795."  Times,  i.  56-98. 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  157 

moment  they  are  published.  In  the  third  number  of 
"  The  Watchman  "  there  are  a  few  lines  entitled  "  The 
Hour  when  we  shall  meet  again,"  "  Dim  hour  that  sleeps 
on  pillowy  clouds  afar"  which  I  think  you  will  like.  I 
have  received  two  or  three  letters  from  different  anonymi, 
requesting  me  to  give  more  poetry.  One  of  them  writes  :  — 

"  Sir !  I  detest  your  principles ;  your  prose  I  think 
very  so-so ;  but  your  poetry  is  so  exquisitely  beautiful,  so 
gorgeously  sublime,  that  I  take  in  your  '  Watchman ' 
solely  on  account  of  it.  In  justice  therefore  to  me  and 
some  others  of  my  stamp,  I  intreat  you  to  give  us  more 
verse  and  less  democratic  scurrility.  Your~admirer,  — ^ 
not  esteemer." 

Have  you  read  over  Dr.  Lardner  on  the  Logos  ?  It  is, 
I  think,  scarcely  possible  to  read  it  and  not  be  convinced. 

I  find  that  "  The  Watchman"  comes  more  easy  to  me, 
so  that  I  shall  begin  about  my  Christian  Lectures.  I  will 
immediately  order  for  you,  unless  you  immediately  coun- 
termand it,  Count  Rumford's  Essays ;  in  No.  V.  of  "  The 
Watchman  "  you  will  see  why.  I  have  enclosed  Dr.  Bed- 
does's  late  pamphlets,  neither  of  them  as  yet  published. 
The  doctor  sent  them  to  me.  I  can  get  no  one  but  the 
doctor  to  agree  with  me  in  my  opinion  that  Burke's  "  Let- 
ter to  a  Noble  Lord  "  1  is  as  contemptible  in  style  as  in 
matter  —  it  is  sad  stuff. 

My  dutiful  love  to  your  excellent  mother,  whom,  believe 
me,  I  think  of  frequently  and  with  a  pang  of  affection. 
God  bless  you.  I  '11  try  and  venture  to  scribble  a  line 
and  a  half  every  time  the  man  goes  with  "  The  Watch- 
man" to  you. 

N.  B.  The  "  Essay  on  Fasting  "  2  I  am  ashamed  of  ; 
but  it  is  one  of  my  misfortunes  that  I  am  obliged  to  pub- 
lish extempore  as  well  as  compose.  God  bless  you, 

and  S.  T.  COLEEIDGE. 

1  The  review  of  "  Burke's  Letter     man,  is  reprinted  in  Essays  on  His 
to  a  Noble  Lord,"  which  appeared     Own  Times,  i.  107-119. 
in  the  first  number  of   The  Watch-        2  Ibid.  120-126. 

V 


158  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [MAY 

LVT.     TO   THE   SAME. 

12th  May,  1796. 

Poole !  The  Spirit,'  who  counts  the  throbbings  of  the 
solitary  heart,  knows  that  what  my  feelings  ought  to  be, 
such  they  are.  If  it  were  in  my  power  to  give  you  any- 
thing which  I  have  not  already  given,  I  should  be  op- 
pressed by  the  letter  now  before  me.1  But  no !  I  feel 
myself  rich  in  being  poor ;  and  because  I  have  nothing  to 
bestow,  I  know  how  much  I  have  bestowed.  Perhaps  I 
shall  not  make  myself  intelligible ;  but  the  strong  and 
unmixed  affection  which  I  bear  to  you  seems  to  exclude 
all  emotions  of  gratitude,  and  renders  even  the  principle 
of  esteem  latent  and  inert.  Its  presence  is  not  percepti- 
ble, though  its  absence  could  not  be  endured. 

Concerning  the  scheme  itself,  I  am  undetermined.  Not 
that  I  am  ashamed  to  receive  —  God  forbid  !  I  will  make 
every  possible  exertion  ;  my  industry  shall  be  at  least  com- 
mensurate with  my  learning  and  talents  ;  —  if  these  do  not 
procure  for  me  and  mine  the  necessary  comforts  of  life,  1 
can  receive  as  I  would  bestow,  and,  in  either  case  —  receiv- 
ing or  bestowing  —  be  equally  grateful  to  my  Almighty 
Benefactor.  I  am  undetermined,  therefore  —  not  because 
I  receive  with  pain  and  reluctance,  but  —  because  I  sus- 
pect that  you  attribute  to  others  your  own  enthusiasm  of 
benevolence  ;  as  if  the  sun  should  say,  "  With  how  rich  a 
purple  those  opposite  windows  are  burning ! "  But  with 
God's  permission  I  shall  talk  with  you  on  this  subject.  By 
the  last  page  of  No.  X.  you  will  perceive  that  I  have  this 
day  dropped  "  The  Watchman."  On  Monday  morning  I 

1  The  occasion  of  this  "burst  of  ton,"  as  "a  trifling  mark  of  their 

affectionate  feeling "  was  a  comniu-  esteem,   gratitude,    and    affection." 

nication  from  Poole   that  seven  or  The  subscriptions  were  paid  in  1796- 

eight  friends  had  undertaken  to  sub-  97,  but  afterwards  discontinued  on 

scribe  a  sum  of  £35  or  £40  to  be  the  receipt  of  the  Wedgwood  annu- 

paid  annually  to  the  "  author  of  the  ity.     See    Thomas    Poole    and    his 

monody  on  the  death   of    Chatter-  Friends,  i.  142. 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  159 

will  go  per  caravan  to  Bridgewater,  where,  if  you  have  a 
horse  of  tolerable  meekness  unemployed,  you  will  let  him 
meet  me. 

I  should  blame  you  for  the  exaggerated  terms  in  which 
you  have  spoken  of  me  in  the  Proposal,  did  I  not  per- 
ceive the  motive.  You  wished  to  make  it  appear  an  offer- 
ing—  not  a  favour  —  and  in  excess  of  delicacy  have,  I 
fear,  fallen  into  some  grossness  of  flattery. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear,  very  dear  Friend.  The  widow l 
is  calm,  and  amused  with  her  beautiful  infant.  We  are 
all  become  more  religious  than  we  were.  God  be  ever 
praised  for  all  things  !  Mrs.  Coleridge  begs  her  kind  love 
to  you.  To  your  dear  mother  my  filial  respects. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LVII.    TO   JOHN  THELWALL. 

May  13,  1796. 

MY  DEAR  THELWALL,  —  You  have  given  me  the  affec- 
tion of  a  brother,  and  I  repay  you  in  kind.  Your  let- 
ters demand  my  friendship  and  deserve  my  esteem ;  the 
zeal  with  which  you  have  attacked  my  supposed  delusions 
proves  that  you  are  deeply  interested  for  me,  and  inter- 
ested even  to  agitation  for  what  you  believe  to  be  truth. 
You  deem  that  I  have  treated  "  systems  and  opinions  with 
the  furious  prejudices  of  the  conventicle,  and  the  illiberal 
dogmatism  of  the  cynic  ;  "  that  I  have  "  layed  about  me 
on  this  side  and  on  that  with  the  sledge  hammer  of  abuse." 
I  have,  you  think,  imitated  the  "  old  sect  in  politics  and 
morals "  in  their  "  outrageous  violence,"  and  have  sunk 
into  the  "  clownish  fierceness  of  intolerant  prejudice."  I 
have  "  branded  "  the  presumptuous  children  of  scepticism 
"  with  vile  epithets  and  hunted  them  down  with  abuse." 
"These  be  hard  words,  Citizen!  and  I  will  be  bold  to 
say  they  are  not  to  be  justified"  by  the  unfortunate  page 

1  Mrs.  Robert  Lovell,  whose  hus-     about  two  years  after  his  marriage 
band  had  been  carried  off  by  a  fever     with  my  aunt.  —  S.  C. 


160  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [MAY 

which  has  occasioned  them.  The  only  passage  in  it  which 
appears  offensive  (I  am  not  now  inquiring  concerning  the 
truth  or  falsehood  of  this  or  the  remaining  passages)  is 
the  following :  "  You  have  studied  Mr.  G.'s  Essay  on 
Political]  Jus[tice]  — but  to  think  filial  affection  folly, 
gratitude  a  crime,  marriage  injustice,  and  the  promiscuous 
intercourse  of  the  sexes  right  and  wise,  may  class  you 
among  the  despisers  of  vulgar  prejudices,  but  cannot  in- 
crease the  probability  that  you  are  a  patriot.  But  you 
act  up  to  your  principles  —  so  much  the  worse.  Your 
principles  are  villainous  ones.  I  would  not  entrust  my  wife 
or  sister  to  you ;  think  you  I  would  entrust  my  coun- 
try ?  "  My  dear  Thelwall !  how  are  these  opinions  con- 
nected with  the  conventicle  more  than  with  the  Stoa,  the 
Lyceum,  or  the  grove  of  Academus  ?  I  do  not  perceive 
that  to  attack  adultery  is  more  characteristic  of  Christian 
prejudices  than  of  the  prejudices  of  the  disciples  of  Aris- 
totle, Zeno,  or  Socrates.  In  truth,  the  offensive  sentence, 
"Your  principles  are  villainous,"  was  suggested  by  the 
Peripatetic  Sage  who  divides  bad  men  into  two  classes. 
The  first  he  calls  "  wet  or  intemperate  sinners  "  —  men 
who  are  hurried  into  vice  by  their  appetites,  but  acknow- 
ledge their  actions  to  be  vicious ;  these  are  reclaimable. 
The  second  class  he  names  dry  villains  —  men  who  are  not 
only  vicious  but  who  (the  steams  from  the  polluted  heart 
rising  up  and  gathering  round  the  head)  have  brought 
themselves  and  others  to  believe  that  vice  is  virtue.  We 
mean  these  men  when  we  say  men  of  bad  principles  — 
guilt  is  out  of  the  question.  I  am  a  necessarian,  and  of 
\  course  deny  the  possibility  of  it.  However,  a  letter  is  not 
the  place  for  reasoning.  In  some  form  or  other,  or  by 
some  channel  or  other,  I  shall  publish  my  critique  on  the 
New  Philosophy,  and,  I  trust,  shall  demean  myself  not  un- 
gently,  and  disappoint  your  auguries.  ..."  But,  you  can- 
not be  a  patriot  unless  you  are  a  Christian."  Yes,  Thel- 
wall, the  disciples  of  Lord  Shaftesbury  and  Rousseau  as 


179G]  TO  JOHN   THELWALL  161 

well  as  of  Jesus  —  but  the  man  who  suffers  not  his  hopes 
to  wander  beyond  the  objects  of  sense  will  in  general  be 
sensual^  and  I  again  assert  that  a  sensualist  is  not  likely 
to  be  a  patriot.  Have  I  tried  these  opinions  by  the  double 
test  of  argument  and  example  ?  I  think  so.  The  first 
would  be  too  large  a  field,  the  second  some  following  sen- 
tences of  your  letter  forced  me  to.  ...  Gerrald l  you  in- 
sinuate is  an  atheist.  Was  he  so,  when  he  offered  those 
solemn  prayers  to  God  Almighty  at  the  Scotch  conventi- 
cle, and  was  this  sincerity  ?  But  Dr.  Darwin  and  (I  sup- 
pose from  his  actions)  Gerrald  think  sincerity  a  folly  and 
therefore  vicious.  Your  atheistic  brethren  square  their 
moral  systems  exactly  according  to  their  inclinations. 
Gerrald  and  Dr.  Darwin  are  polite  and  good-natured  men, 
and  willing  to  attain  at  good  by  attainable  roads.  They 
deem  insincerity  a  necessary  virtue  in  the  present  imper- 
fect state  of  our  nature.  Godwin,  whose  very  heart  is 
cankered  by  the  love  of  singularity,  and  who  feels  no  dis- 

1  Compare  Condones  ad  Populum,  Godwin  and  his  other  friends  were 

1795,  p.  22.  "  Such  is  Joseph  Ger-  allowed  to  visit  him.  ...  In  May, 

raid !  Withering  in  the  sickly  and  1795,  he  was  suddenly  taken  from 

tainted  gales  of  a  prison,  his  health-  his  prison  and  placed  on  board  the 

ful  soul  looks  down  from  the  citadel  hulks,  and  soon  afterwards  sailed, 

of  his  integrity  on  his  impotent  per-  He  survived  his  arrival  in  New 

secutors.  I  saw  him  in  the  foul  and  South  Wales  only  five  mouths.  A 

naked  room  of  a  jail ;  his  cheek  was  few  hours  before  he  died,  he  said  to 

sallow  with  confinement,  his  body  the  friends  around  him, '  I  die  in  the 

was  emaciated ;  yet  his  eye  spake  best  of  causes,  and,  as  you  witness, 

the  invincible  purpose  of  his  soul,  without  repining.' "  Mrs.  Shelley's 

and  he  still  sounded  with  rapture  the  Notes,  as  quoted  by  Mr.  C.  Kegan 

successes  of  Freedom,  forgetful  of  Paul  in  his  William  Godwin,  i.  125. 

his  own  lingering  martyrdom."  See,  too,  "the  very  noble  letter" 

Together  with  four  others,  Gerrald  (January  23,  1794)  addressed  by 
was  tried  for  sedition  at  Edinburgh  Godwin  to  Gerrald  relative  to  his 
in  March,  1794.  He  delivered  an  defence.  Ibid.  i.  125.  Lords  Cock- 
eloquent  speech  in  his  own  defence,  burn  and  Jeffrey  considered  the 
but  with  the  other  prisoners  was  conviction  of  these  men  a  gross  mis- 
convicted  and  sentenced  to  be  trans-  carriage  of  justice,  and  in  1844  a 
ported  for  fifteen  years.  "  In  April  monument  was  erected  at  the  foot 
Gerrald  was  removed  to  London,  of  the  Calton  Hill,  Edinburgh,  to 
and  committed  to  Newgate,  where  their  memory. 


162  EAKLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [MAY 

inclination  to  wound  by  abrupt  harshness,  pleads  for  abso- 
lute sincerity,  because  such  a  system  gives  him  a  frequent 
opportunity  of  indulging  his  misanthropy.  Poor  Wil- 
liams,1 the  Welsh  bard  (a  very  meek  man),  brought  the 
tear  into  my  eye  by  a  simple  narration  of  the  manner  in 
which  Godwin  insulted  him  under  the  pretence  of  reproof, 
and  Thomas  Walker  of  Manchester  told  me  that  his  in- 
dignation and  contempt  were  never  more  powerfully  ex- 
cited than  by  an  unfeeling  and  insolent  speech  of  the  said 
Godwin  to  the  poor  Welsh  bard.  Scott  told  me  some 
shocking  stories  of  Godwin.  His  base  and  anonymous  at- 
tack on  you  is  enough  for  me.  At  that  time  I  had  pre- 
pared a  letter  to  him,  which  I  was  about  to  have  sent  to 
the  "  Morning  Chronicle,"  and  I  convinced  Dr.  Beddoes 
by  passages  from  the  "  Tribune  "  of  the  calumnious  nature 
of  the  attack.  I  was  once  and  only  once  in  company 
with  Godwin.  He  appeared  to  me  to  possess  neither  the 
strength  of  intellect  that  discovers  truth,  nor  the  powers 
of  imagination  that  decorate  falsehood ;  he  talked  sophisms 
in  jejune  language.  I  like  Holcroft  a  thousand  times  bet- 
ter, and  think  him  a  man  of  much  greater  ability.  Fierce, 
hot,  petulant,  the  very  high  priest  of  atheism,  he  hates 
God  "  with  all  his  heart,  with  all  his  mind,  with  all  his 
soul,  and  with  all  his  strength."  Every  man  not  an  athe- 
ist is  only  not  a  fool.  "Dr.  Priestley?  there  is  a,petitesse 
in  his  mind.  Hartley  ?  pshaw !  Godwin,  sir,  is  a  thou- 
sand times  a  better  metaphysician  !  "  But  this  intolerance 

1  Edward    Williams    (lolo    Mor-  "  The  three  principal  considerations 

gangw),  1747-1826.     His  poems  in  of    poetical    description :    what    is 

two  volumes  were  published  by  sub-  obvious,  what  instantly  engages  the 

scription  in   1794.     Coleridge  pos-  affections,   and   what    is   strikingly 

sessed  a  copy  presented  to  him  "  by  characteristic."     The  comment  is  as 

the  author,"  and  on  the  last  page  of  follows  :  "  I  suppose,  rather  what  we 

the  second  volume  he  has  scrawled  recollect  to  have  frequently  seen  in 

a  single  but  characteristic  marginal  nature,  though  not  in  the  description, 

note.     It  is  affixed  to  a  translation  of  it." 
of    one  of    the   "Poetic    Triades." 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  163 

is  founded  on  benevolence.    (I  had  almost  forgotten  that 
horrible  story  about  his  son.) 

On  the  subject  of  using  sugar,  etc.,  I  will  write  you  a 
long  and  serious  letter.  This  grieves  me  more  than  you 
[imagine].  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  by  severe  and  un- 
adorned reasoning  to  convince  you  you  are  wrong. 

Your  remarks  on  my  poems  are,  I  think,  just  in  gen- 
eral ;  there  is  a  rage  and  affectation  of  double  epithets. 
"  Unshuddered,  unaghasted  "  is,  indeed,  truly  ridiculous. 
But  why  so  violent  against  metaphysics  in  poetry  ?  Is  not 
Akenside's  a  metaphysical  poem  ?  Perhaps  you  do  not 
like  Akenside  ?  Well,  but  /  do,  and  so  do  a  great  many 
others.  Why  pass  an  act  of  uniformity  against  poets?  I 
received  a  letter  from  a  very  sensible  friend  abusing  love 
verses  ;  another  blaming  the  introduction  of  politics,  "  as 
wider  from  true  poetry  than  the  equator  from  the  poles." 
"  Some  for  each  "  is  my  motto.  That  poetry  pleases  which 
interests.  My  religious  poetry  interests  the  religious, 
who  read  it  with  rapture.  Why  ?  Because  it  awakes  in 
them  all  the  associations  connected  with  a  love  of  future 
existence,  etc.  A  very  dear  friend  of  mine,1  who  is,  in 

1  The  allusion  must  be  to  Words-  tol  in  1795,"  —  an  imperfect  recol- 
worth,  but  there  is  a  difficulty  as  to  lection  very  difficult  to  reconcile  with 
dates.  In  a  MS.  note  to  the  second  other  known  facts.  Secondly,  there  is 
edition  of  his  poems  (1797)  Cole-  Sara  Coleridge's  statement  that  "Mr. 
ridge  distinctly  states  that  he  had  no  Coleridge  and  Mr.  Wordsworth  first 
personal  acquaintance  with  Words-  met  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Pinney,"  in 
worth  as  early  as  March,  1796.  the  spring  or  summer  of  1795  ;  and, 
Again,  in  a  letter  (Letter  LXXXI.)  thirdly,  it  would  appear  from  a  let- 
to  Estlin  dated  "May  [?  1797],"  ter  of  Lamb  to  Coleridge,  which  be- 
but  certainly  written  in  May,  1798,  longs  to  the  summer  of  1796,  that 
Coleridge  says  that  he  has  known  "  the  personal  acquaintance  ' '  with 
Wordsworth  for  a  year  and  some  Wordsworth  had  already  begun.  The 
months.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  probable  conclusion  is  that  there  was 
Mrs.  Wordsworth's  report  of  her  hus-  a  first  meeting  in  1795,  and  occa- 
band's  "impression"  that  he  first  sional  intercourse  in  1796,  but  that 
met  Coleridge,  Southey,  Sara,  and  intimacy  and  friendship  date  from 
Edith  Fricker  "  in  a  lodging  in  Bris-  the  visit  to  Racedown  in  June,  1797. 


164  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [MAY 

my  opinion,  the  best  poet  of  the  age  (I  will  send  you  his 
poem  when  published),  thinks  that  the  lines  from  364  to 
375  and  from  403  to  428  the  best  in  the  volume,  —  indeed, 
worth  all  the  rest.  And  this  man  is  a  republican,  and,  at 
least,  a  semi-atheist.  Why  do  you  object  to  "  shadowy  of 
truth  "  ?  It  is,  I  acknowledge,  a  Grecism,  but,  I  think, 
an  elegant  one.  Your  remarks  on  the  della-crusca  place 
of  emphasis  are  just  in  part.  Where  we  wish  to  point  out 
the  thing,  and  the  quality  is  mentioned  merely  as  a  deco- 
ration, this  mode  of  emphasis  is  indeed  absurd ;  therefore, 
I  very  patiently  give  up  to  critical  vengeance  "  high  tree," 
" sore  wounds,"  and  "rough  rock;"  but  when  you  wish 
to  dwell  chiefly  on  the  quality  rather  than  the  thing, 
then  this  mode  is  proper,  and,  indeed,  is  used  in  common 
conversation.  Who  says  good  man  ?  Therefore,  "  big 
soul,"  "  cold  earth,"  "dark  womb,"  and  "flamy  child"  are 
all  right,  and  introduce  a  variety  into  the  versification, 
[which  is]  an  advantage  where  you  can  attain  it  without 
any  sacrifice  of  sense.  As  to  harmony,  it  is  all  associa- 
tion. Milton  is  harmonious  to  me,  and  I  absolutely  nau- 
seate Darwin's  poems. 

Yours  affectionately, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 
JOHN  THELWALL, 

Beaufort  Buildings,  Strand,  London. 

LVIII.    TO   THOMAS  POOLE. 

May  29, 1796. 

MY  DEAR  POOLE,  —  This  said  caravan  does  not  leave 
Bridgewater  till  nine.     In  the  market  place  stands  the 

Coleridge  quotes  Wordsworth  in  his  only  have    been    "  his    very    dear 

"  Lines  from  Shurton  Bars,"  dated  friend  ' '  sensu  poetico.     Life  of  W. 

September,  1795,  but  the  first  trace  Wordsworth,  i.    Ill ;     Biographical 

of  Wordsworth's  influence  on  style  Supplement  to  Biographia  Literaria, 

and  thought  appears  in  "  This  Lime-  chapter  ii. ;  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb, 

Tree  Bower  my  Prison,"  July,  1797.  Macmillan,  1888,  i.  6. 
In  May,    1796,  Wordsworth  could 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  165 

hustings.  I  mounted  it,  and,  pacing  the  boards,  mused 
on  bribery,  false  swearing,  and  other  foibles  of  election 
times.  I  have  wandered,  too,  by  the  river  Parret,  which 
looks  as  filthy  as  if  all  the  parrots  of  the  House  of 
Commons  had  been  washing  their  consciences  therein. 
Dear  gutter  of  Stowey  ! *  Were  I  transported  to  Italian 
plains,  and  lay  by  the  side  of  the  streamlet  that  mur- 
mured through  an  orange  grove,  I  would  think  of  thee, 
dear  gutter  of  Stowey,  and  wish  that  I  were  poring  on 
thee! 

So  much  by  way  of  rant.  I  have  eaten  three  eggs, 
swallowed  sundries  of  tea  and  bread  and  butter,  purely  for 
the  purpose  of  amusing  myself !  I  have  seen  the  horse 
fed.  When  at  Cross,  where  I  shall  dine,  I  shall  think  of 
your  happy  dinner,  celebrated  under  the  auspices  of  hum- 
ble independence,  supported  by  brotherly  love  !  I  am 
writing,  you  understand,  for  no  worldly  purpose  but  that 
of  avoiding  anxious  thoughts.  Apropos  of  honey-pie, 
Caligula  or  Elagabalus  (I  forget  which)  had  a  dish  of 
nightingales'  tongues  served  up.  What  think  you  of  the 
stings  of  bees  ?  God  bless  you !  My  filial  love  to  your 
mother,  and  fraternity  to  your  sister.  Tell  Ellen  Cruik- 
shank  that  in  my  next  parcel  to  you  I  will  send  my 
Haleswood  poem  to  her.  Heaven  protect  her  and  you 
and  Sara  and  your  mother  and,  like  a.  bad  shilling  passed  |  y+Ji 
off  between  a  handful  of  guineas,  / 

Your  affectionate  friend  and  brother, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  —  Don't  forget  to  send  by  Milton  [carrier]  my 
old  clothes,  and  linen  that  once  was  clean,  etcetera.  A 
pretty  periphrasis  that  I 

1  On  the  side  of  the  road,  oppo-  through  which  a  stream  passes.  See 
site  to  Poole's  house  in  Castle  Street,  Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  i. 
Nether  Stowey,  is  a  straight  gutter  147. 


166  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [JUNE 


LIX.     TO    JOHN  THELWALL. 


Wednesday,  June  22,  1796. 

DEAR  THELWALL,  —  That  I  have  not  written  you  has 
been  an  act  of  self-denial,  not  indolence.  I  heard  that 
you  were  electioneering,  and  would  not  be  the  occasion 
that  any  of  your  thoughts  should  diverge  from  that  focus. 

I  wish  very  much  to  see  you.  Have  you  given  up  the 
idea  of  spending  a  few  weeks  or  month  at  Bristol  ?  You 
might  be  making  way  in  your  review  of  Burke's  life  and 
writings,  and  give  us  once  or  twice  a  week  a  lecture,  which 
I  doubt  not  would  be  crowded.  We  have  a  large  and 
every  way  excellent  library,  to  which  I  could  make  you  a 
temporary  subscriber,  that  is,  I  would  get  a  subscription 
ticket  transferred  to  you. 

You  are  certainly  well  calculated  for  the  review  you 
meditate.  Your  answer  to  Burke  is,  I  will  not  say,  the 
best,  for  that  would  be  no  praise  ;  it  is  certainly  the  only 
good  one,  and  it  is  a  very  good  one.  In  style  and  in 
reflectiveness  it  is,  I  think,  your  chef  d'ceuvre.  Yet  the 
"  Peripatetic  "  1  —  for  which  accept  my  thanks  —  pleased 
me  more  because  it  let  me  into  your  heart ;  the  poetry  is  i 
frequently  sweet  and  possesses  the  fire  of  feeling,  but  not  !  J 
enough  (I  think)  of  the  light  of  fancy.  I  am  sorry  that 
you  should  entertain  so  degrading  an  opinion  of  me  as  to 
imagine  that  I  industriously  collected  anecdotes  unfavour- 
able to  the  characters  of  great  men.  No,  Thelwall,  but  I 
cannot  shut  my  ears,  and  I  have  never  given  a  moment's 
belief  to  any  one  of  those  stories  unless  when  they  were 
related  to  me  at  different  times  by  professed  democrats. 
My  vice  is  of  the  opposite  class,  a  precipitance  in  praise ; 
witness  my  panegyric  on  Gerrald  and  that  black  gentle- 
man Margarot  in  the  "  Conciones,"  and  my  foolish  verses 

1  The  Peripatetic,  or    Sketches  of    a  miscellany  of  prose  and  verse  is- 
the  Heart,  of  Nature,  and  of  Society,     sued  by  John  Thelwall,  in  1793. 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  167 

to  Godwin  in  the  "  Morning  Chronicle." l  At  the  same 
time,  Thelwall,  do  not  suppose  that  I  admit  your  pallia- 
tions. Doubtless  I  could  fill  a  book  with  slanderous  sto- 
ries of  professed  Christians,  but  those  very  men  would 
allow  they  were  acting  contrary  to  Christianity;  but,  I 
am  afraid,  an  atheistic  bad  man  manufactures  his  system 
of  principles  with  an  eye  to  his  peculiar  propensities,  and 
makes  his  actions  the  criterion  of  what  is  virtuous,  not 
virtue  the  criterion  of  his  actions.  Where  the  disposition 
is  not  amiable,  an  acute  understanding  I  deem  no  bless- 
ing. To  the  last  sentence  in  your  letter  I  subscribe  fully 
and  with  all  my  inmost  affections.  "  He  who  thinks  and 
feels  will  be  virtuous ;  and  he  who  is  absorbed  in  self 
will  be  vicious,  whatever  maybe  his  speculative  opinions." 
Believe  me,  Thelwall,  it  is  not  his  atheism  that  has  pre- 
judiced me  against  Godwin,  but  Godwin  who  has,  per- 
haps, prejudiced  me  against  atheism.  Let  me  see  you  — 
I  already  know  a  deist,  and  Calvinists,  and  Moravians 
whom  I  love  and  reverence  —  and  I  shall  leap  forwards  to 
realise  my  principles  by  feeling  love  and  honour  for  an 
atheist.  By  the  bye,  are  you  an  atheist  ?  For  I  was  told 
that  Hutton  was  an  atheist,  and  procured  his  three  massy 
quartos  on  the  principle  of  knowledge  in  the  hopes  of 
finding  some  arguments  in  favor  of  atheism,  but  lo !  I 
discovered  him  to  be  a  profoundly  pious  deist,  — "  inde- 
pendent of  fortune,  satisfied  with  himself,  pleased  with  his 
species,  confident  in  his  Creator." 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  Thelwall !  Believe  me  with 
high  esteem  and  anticipated  tenderness, 

Yours  sincerely,  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  We  have  a  hundred  lovely  scenes  about  Bristol, 
which  would  make  you  exclaim,  O  admirable  Nature! 
and  me,  O  Gracious  God  I 

:  January  10,  1795.    See  Poetical    one  of  those  tried  and  transported 
Works,  p.  41,  and  Editor's  Note,  p.    with  Gerrald. 
575.    Margaret,  a  West  Indian,  was 


168  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [SEPT. 

LX.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

Saturday,  September  24,  1796. 

MY  DEAR,  VERT  DEAR  POOLE,  —  The  heart  thoroughly 
penetrated  with  the  flame  of  virtuous  friendship  is  in  a 
state  of  glory ;  but  lest  it  should  be  exalted  above  meas- 
ure there  is  given  it  a  thorn  in  the  flesh.  I  mean  that 
when  the  friendship  of  any  person  forms  an  essential 
part  of  a  man's  happiness,  he  will  at  times  be  pestered 
by  the  little  jealousies  and  solicitudes  of  imbecile  hu- 
manity. Since  we  last  parted  I  have  been  gloomily 
dreaming  that  you  did  not  leave  me  so  affectionately  as 
you  were  wont  to  do.  Pardon  this  littleness  of  heart,  and 
do  not  think  the  worse  of  me  for  it.  Indeed,  my  soul 
seems  so  mantled  and  wrapped  around  by  your  love  and 
esteem,  that  even  a  dream  of  losing  but  the  smallest 
fragment  of  it  makes  me  shiver,  as  though  some  tender 
part  of  my  nature  were  left  uncovered  in  nakedness. 

Last  week  I  received  a  letter  from  Lloyd,  informing 
me  that  his  parents  had  given  their  joyful  concurrence  to 
his  residence  with  me ;  but  that,  if  it  were  possible  that 
I  could  be  absent  for  three  or  four  days,  his  father  wished 
particularly  to  see  me.  I  consulted  Mrs.  Coleridge,  who 
advised  me  to  go.  .  .  .  Accordingly  on  Saturday  night  I 
went  by  the  mail  to  Birmingham  and  was  introduced  to 
the  father,  who  is  a  mild  man,  very  liberal  in  his  ideas, 
and  in  religion  an  allegorizing  Quaker.  I  mean  that  all 
the  apparently  irrational  path  of  his  sect  he  allegorizes 
into  significations,  which  for  the  most  part  you  or  I  might 
assent  to.  We  became  well  acquainted,  and  he  ex- 
pressed himself  "thankful  to  heaven  that  his  son  was 
about  to  be  with  me."  He  said  he  would  write  to  me 
concerning  money  matters  after  his  son  had  been  some 
time  under  my  roof. 

On  Tuesday  morning  I  was  surprised  by  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Maurice,  our  medical  attendant,  informing  me  that 


1796]  TO   THOMAS  POOLE  169 

Mrs.  Coleridge  was  delivered  on  Monday,  September  19, 
1796,  half  past  two  in  the  morning,  of  a  SON,  and  that 
both  she  and  the  child  were  uncommonly  well.  I  was 
quite  annihilated  with  the  suddenness  of  the  informa- 
tion, and  retired  to  my  own  room  to  address  myself  to 
my  Maker,  but  I  could  only  offer  up  to  Him  the  silence 
of  stupefied  feelings.  I  hastened  home,  and  Charles 
Lloyd  returned  with  me.  When  I  first  saw  the  child,1  I 
did  not  feel  that  thrill  and  overflowing  of  affection  which 
I  expected.  I  looked  on  it  with  a  melancholy  gaze ;  my 
mind  was  intensely  contemplative  and  my  heart  only  sad. 
But  when  two  hours  after  I  saw  it  at  the  bosom  of  its 
mother,  on  her  arm,  and  her  eye  tearful  and  watching 
its  little  features,  then  I  was  thrilled  and  melted,  and 
gave  it  the  KISS  of  a  father.  .  .  .  The  baby  seems 
strong,  and  the  old  nurse  has  over-persuaded  my  wife  to 
discover  a  likeness  of  me  in  its  face  —  no  great  compli- 
ment to  me,  for,  in  truth,  I  have  seen  handsomer  babies 
in  my  lifetime.  Its  name  is  David  Hartley  Coleridge. 
I  hope  that  ere  he  be  a  man,  if  God  destines  him  for  con- 
tinuance in  this  life,  his  head  will  be  convinced  of,  and 
his  heart  saturated  with,  the  truths  so  ably  supported  by 
that  great  master  of  Christian  Philosophy. 

Charles  Lloyd  wins  upon  me  hourly ;  his  heart  is  un- 
commonly pure,  his  affection  delicate,  and  his  benevo- 
lence enlivened  but  not  sicklied  by  sensibility.  He  is 
assuredly  a  man  of  great  genius  ;  but  it  must  be  in  tete- 
a-tete  with  one  whom  he  loves  and  esteems  that  his  collo-  / 
quial  powers  open  ;  and  this  arises  not  from  reserve  or 
want  of  simplicity,  but  from  having  been  placed  in  situa-  \ 
tions  where  for  years  together  he  met  with  no  congenial 
minds,  and  where  the  contrariety  of  his  thoughts  and 
notions  to  the  thoughts  and  notions  of  those  around  him 
induced  the  necessity  of  habitually  suppressing  his  feel- 
ings. His  joy  and  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  the  circum- 

1  See  Poetical  Works,  p.  66. 


170  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [SEPT. 

stance  of  his  domestication  with  me  I  can  scarcely  de- 
scribe to  you ;  and  I  believe  that  his  fixed  plans  are  of 
being  always  with  me.  His  father  told  me  that  if  he 
saw  that  his  son  had  formed  habits  of  severe  economy  he 
should  not  insist  upon  his  adopting  any  profession ;  as 
then  his  fair  share  of  his  (the  father's)  wealth  would  be 
sufficient  for  him. 

My  dearest  Poole,  can  you  conveniently  receive  us  in 
the  course  of  a  week  ?  We  can  both  sleep  in  one  bed, 
which  we  do  now.  And  I  have  much,  very  much  to  say 
to  you  and  consult  with  you  about,  for  my  heart  is  heavy 
respecting  Derby,1  and  my  feelings  are  so  dim  and  hud- 
dled that  though  I  can,  I  am  sure,  communicate  them  to 
you  by  my  looks  and  broken  sentences,  I  scarce  know 
how  to  convey  them  in  a  letter.  And  Charles  Lloyd 
wishes  much  to  know  you  personally.  I  shall  write  on 
the  other  side  of  the  paper  two  of  Charles  Lloyd's  son- 
nets, which  he  wrote  in  one  evening  at  Birmingham.  The 
latter  of  them  alludes  to  the  conviction  of  the  truth  of 
Christianity,  which  he  had  received  from  me,  for  he  had 
been,  if  not  a  deist,  yet  quite  a  sceptic. 

Let  me  hear  from  you  by  post  immediately  ;  and  give 
my  kind  love  to  that  young  man  with  the  soul-beaming 
face,2  which  I  recollect  much  better  than  I  do  his  name. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend. 

Believe  me,  with  deep  affection,  your 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

1  Early  in  the  autumn  of  1796,  a        2  Thomas  Ward,  at  first  the  arti- 

proposal  had  been  made  to  Coleridge  cled  clerk,  and  afterwards  partner 

that  he  should  start  a  day  school  in  in   business   and  in  good  works,  of 

Derby.     Poole  dissuaded  him  from  Thomas  Poole.    He  it  was  who  tran- 

accepting  this  offer,  or  rather,  per-  scribed  in  "  Poole 's  Copying  Book  " 

haps,  Coleridge  succeeded  in  procur-  Coleridge's   letters   from  Germany, 

ing  Poole' s  disapproval    of   a   plan  and  much  of  his  correspondence  be- 

which  he  himself  dreaded  and  dis-  sides.      See   Thomas  Poole   and  his 

liked.  Friends,  i.  159,  160,  304,  305,  etc. 


1796]  TO   CHARLES  LAMB  171 

LXI.    TO   CHARLES   LAMB.1 

[September  28,  1796.] 

Your  letter,  my  friend,  struck  me  with  a  mighty  horror. 
It  rushed  upon  me  and  stupefied  my  feelings.  You  bid 
me  write  you  a  religious  letter.  I  am  not  a  man  who 
would  attempt  to  insult  the  greatness  of  your  anguish  by 
any  other  consolation.  Heaven  knows  that  in  the  easiest 
fortunes  there  is  much  dissatisfaction  and  weariness  of 
spirit ;  much  that  calls  for  the  exercise  of  patience  and 
resignation ;  but  in  storms  like  these,  that  shake  the 
dwelling  and  make  the  heart  tremble,  there  is  no  middle 
way  between  despair  and  the  yielding  up  of  the  whole 
spirit  unto  the  guidance  of  faith.  And  surely  it  is  a 
matter  of  joy  that  your  faith  in  Jesus  has  been  pre- 
served ;  the  Comforter  that  should  relieve  you  is  not  far 
from  you.  But  as  you  are  a  Christian,  in  the  name  of 
that  Saviour,  who  was  filled  with  bitterness  and  made 
drunken  with  wormwood,  I  conjure  you  to  have  recourse  in 
frequent  prayer  to  "  his  God  and  your  God  ;  "  the  God  of 
mercies,  and  father  of  all  comfort.  Your  poor  father  is, 
I  hope,  almost  senseless  of  the  calamity  j  the  unconscious 

1  This  letter,  first  printed  in  Gill-  eternal  partaker  of  the  Divine  na- 
man's  Life,  pp.  338-340,  and  since  ture."  Lamb  thought  that  the 
reprinted  in  the  notes  to  Canon  expression  savoured  too  much  of 
Ainger's  edition  of  LamVs  Letters  theological  subtlety,  and  outstepped 
(i.  314,  315),  was  written  in  response  the  modesty  of  weak  and  suffering 
to  a  request  of  Charles  Lamb  in  his  humanity.  Coleridge's  "  religious 
letter  of  September  27,  1796,  an-  letter  "  came  from  his  heart,  but  he 
nouncing  the  "  terrible  calamities  "  was  a  born  preacher,  and  naturally 
which  had  befallen  his  family,  clothes  his  thoughts  in  rhetorical 
"  Write  me,"  said  Lamb,  "  as  re-  language.  I  have  seen  a  note  writ- 
ligious  a  letter  as  possible."  In  his  ten  by  him  within  a  few  hours  of 
next  letter,  October  3,  he  says, "  Your  his  death,  when  he  could  scarcely 
letter  is  an  inestimable  treasure."  direct  his  pen.  It  breathes  the  ten- 
But  a  few  weeks  later,  October  24,  derest  loving-kindness,  but  the  ex- 
he  takes  exception  to  the  sentence,  pressions  are  elaborate  and  formal. 
"  You  are  a  temporary  sharer  in  It  was  only  in  poetry  that  he  at- 
human  miseries  that  you  may  be  an  tained  to  simplicity. 


172  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [Nov. 

instrument  of  Divine  Providence  knows  it  not,  and  your 
mother  is  in  heaven.  It  is  sweet  to  be  roused  from  a 
frightful  dream  by  the  song  of  birds  and  the  gladsome 
rays  of  the  morning.  Ah,  how  infinitely  more  sweet  to 
be  awakened  from  the  blackness  and  amazement  of  a 
sudden  horror  by  the  glories  of  God  manifest  and  the 
hallelujahs  of  angels. 

As  to  what  regards  yourself,  I  approve  altogether  of 
your  abandoning  what  you  justly  call  vanities.  I  look 
upon  you  as  a  man  called  by  sorrow  and  anguish  and 
a  strange  desolation  of  hopes  into  quietness,  and  a  soul 
set  apart  and  made  peculiar  to  God !  We  cannot  arrive  at  / 
any  portion  of  heavenly  bliss  without  in  some  measure 
imitating  Christ ;  and  they  arrive  at  the  largest  inherit-  / 

ance  who  imitate  the  most  difficult  parts  of  his  character, 
and,  bowed  down  and  crushed  underfoot,  cry  in  fulness 
of  faith,  "  Father,  thy  will  be  done." 

I  wish  above  measure  to  have  you  for  a  little  while 
here ;  no  visitants  shall  blow  on  the  nakedness  of  your 
feelings ;  you  shall  be  quiet,  and  your  spirit  may  be 
healed.  I  see  no  possible  objection,  unless  your  father's 
helplessness  prevent  you,  and  unless  you  are  necessary  to 
him.  If  this  be  not  the  case,  I  charge  you  write  me  that 
you  will  come. 

I  charge  you,  my  dearest  friend,  not  to  dare  to  en- 
courage gloom  or  despair.  You  are  a  temporary  sharer 
in  human  miseries  that  you  may  be  an  eternal  partaker 
of  the  Divine  nature.  I  charge  you,  if  by  any  means 
it  be  possible,  come  to  me. 

I  remain  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 

LXII.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

Saturday  night,  November  5,  1796. 

Thanks,  my  heart's  warm  thanks  to  you,  my  beloved 
friend,  for  your  tender  letter  !  Indeed,  I  did  not  deserve 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  173 

so  kind  a  one ;  but  by  this  time  you  have  received  my 
last. 

To  live  in  a  beautiful  country,  and  to  enure  myself  as 
much  as  possible  to  the  labour  of  the  field,  have  been  for 
this  year  past  my  dream  of  the  day,  my  sigh  at  midnight. 
But  to  enjoy  these  blessings  near  you,  to  see  you  daily, 
to  tell  you  all  my  thoughts  in  their  first  birth,  and  to 
hear  yours,  to  be  mingling  identities  with  you  as  it  were, 

—  the  vision-wearing  fancy  has  indeed  often  pictured  such 
things,  but  hope  never  dared  whisper  a  promise.     Disap- 
pointment !     Disappointment !    dash  not  from  my  trem- 
bling hand  the  bowl  which  almost  touches  my  lips.    Envy 
me  not  this  immortal  draught,  and  I  will  forgive  thee  all 
thy  persecutions.     Forgive  thee !     Impious  !     /  will  bless 
thee,  black-vested  minister  of  optimism,  stern  pioneer  of 
happiness  !    Thou  hast  been  "  the  cloud  "  before  me  from 
the  day  that  I  left  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  and  was  led 
through  the  way  of  a  wilderness — the  cloud  that  hast 
been  guiding  me  to  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey 

—  the  milk  of  innocence,  the  honey  of  friendship  I 

I  wanted  such  a  letter  as  yours,  for  I  am  very  unwell. 
On  "Wednesday  night  I  was  seized  with  an  intolerable 
pain  from  my  right  temple  to  the  tip  of  my  right  shoulder, 
including  my  right  eye,  cheek,  jaw,  and  that  side  of  the 
throat.  I  was  nearly  frantic,  and  ran  about  the  house 
naked,  endeavouring  by  every  means  to  excite  sensations 
in  different  parts  of  my  body,  and  so  to  weaken  the  enemy 
by  creating  division.  It  continued  from  one  in  the  morn- 
ing till  half  past  five,  and  left  me  pale  and  fainting.  It 
came  on  fitfully,  but  not  so  violently,  several  times  on 
Thursday,  and  began  severer  threats  towards  night ;  but 
I  took  between  sixty  and  seventy  drops  of  laudanum,1 

1  Coleridge  must    have    resorted  ber  21, 1791,  he  says,  "  Opium  never 

occasionally  to  opiates  long  before  used  to  have  any  disagreeable  effects 

this.     In   an  unpublished  letter  to  on  me."     Most  likely  it  was  given 

his  brother  George,  dated  Novem-  to  him  at  Christ's  Hospital,  when  he 


174 


EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE 


[Nov. 


and  sopped  the  Cerberus,  just  as  his  mouth  began  to  open. 
On  Friday  it  only  niggled,  as  if  the  chief  had  departed 
from  a  conquered  place,  and  merely  left  a  small  garri- 
son behind,  or  as  if  he  had  evacuated  the  Corsica,1  and  a 


was  suffering  from  rheumatic  fever. 
In  the  sonnet  on  "  Pain,"  which 
belongs  to  the  summer  of  1790,  he 
speaks  of  ' '  frequent  pangs, ' '  of 
"seas  of  pain,"  and  in  the  natural 
course  of  things  opiates  would  have 
been  prescribed  by  the  doctors.  Tes- 
timony of  this  nature  appears  at  first 
sight  to  be  inconsistent  with  state- 
ments made  by  Coleridge  in  later 
life  to  the  effect  that  he  began  to 
take  opium  in  the  second  year  of  his 
residence  at  Keswick,  in  consequence 
of  rheumatic  pains  brought  on  by 
the  damp  climate.  It  was,  how- 
ever, the  first  commencement  of  the 
secret  and  habitual  resort  to  nar- 
cotics which  weighed  on  memory 
and  conscience,  and  there  is  abundant 
evidence  that  it  was  not  till  the  late 
spring  of  1801  that  he  could  be  said 
to  be  under  the  dominion  of  opium. 
To  these  earlier  indulgences  in  the 
"  accursed  drug,"  which  probably 
left  no  "  disagreeable  effects,"  and 
of  which,  it  is  to  be  remarked,  he 
speaks  openly,  he  seems  to  have  at- 
tached but  little  significance. 

Since  the  above  note  was  written, 
Mr.  W.  Aldis  Wright  has  printed 
in  the  Academy,  February  24,  1894, 
an  extract  from  an  unpublished  let- 
ter from  Coleridge  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Edwards  of  Birmingham,  recently 
found  in  the  Library  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge.  It  is  dated 
Bristol,  "12  March,  1795"  (read 
"  1796  "),  and  runs  as  follows  :  - 

"Since  I  last  wrote  you,  I  have 
been  tottering  on  the  verge  of  mad- 
ness —  my  mind  overbalanced  on  the 


e  contra  side  of  happiness  —  the  blun- 
ders of  my  associate  [in  the  editing 
of  the  Watchman,  G.  Burnett],  etc., 
etc.,  abroad,  and,  at  home,  Mrs. 
Coleridge  dangerously  ill.  .  .  .  Such 
has  been  my  situation  for  the  last 
fortnight  —  I  have  been  obliged  to 
take  laudanum  almost  every  night."  »- 

1  The  news  of  the  evacuation  of 
Corsica  by  the  British  troops,  which 
took  place  on  October  21, 1796,  must 
have  reached  Coleridge  a  few  days 
before  the  date  of  this  letter.  Cor- 
sica was  ceded  to  the  British,  June 
18,  1794.  A  declaration  of  war  on 
the  part  of  Spam  (August  19,  1796) 
and  a  threatened  invasion  of  Ire- 
land compelled  the  home  govern- 
ment to  withdraw  their  troops  from 
Corsica.  In  a  footnote  to  chapter 
xxv.  of  his  Life  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte, Sir  Walter  Scott  quotes  from 
Napoleon's  memoirs  compiled  at  St. 
Helena  the  "  odd  observation  "  that 
"  the  crown  of  Corsica  must,  on  the 
temporary  annexation  of  the  island 
to  Great  Britain,  have  been  sur- 
prised at  finding  itself  appertaining 
to  the  successor  of  Fingal."  Sir 
Walter's  patriotism  constrained  him 
to  add  the  following  comment :  "  Not 
more,  we  should  think,  than  the  dia- 
dem of  France  and  the  iron  crown 
of  Lombardy  marvelled  at  meeting 
on  the  brow  of  a  Corsican  soldier  of 
fortune." 

In  the  Biograpkia  Literaria,  1847, 
ii.  380,  the  word  is  misprinted  Cor- 
rica,  but  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  the 
reading  of  the  MS.  letter,  or  to  the 
allusion  to  contemporary  history. 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  175 

few  straggling  pains  only  remained.  But  this  morning 
he  returned  in  full  force,  and  his  name  is  Legion.  Giant- 
fiend  of  a  hundred  hands,  with  a  shower  of  arrowy  death- 
pangs  he  transpierced  me,  and  then  he  became  a  wolf, 
and  lay  a-gnawing  at  my  bones  !  I  am  not  mad,  most 
noble  Festus,  but  in  sober  sadness  I  have  suffered  this 
day  more  bodily  pain  than  I  had  before  a  conception  of. 
My  right  cheek  has  certainly  been  placed  with  admirable 
exactness  under  the  focus  of  some  invisible  burning-glass, 
which  concentrated  all  the  rays  of  a  Tartarean  sun.  My 
medical  attendant  decides  it  to  be  altogether  nervous,  and 
that  it  originates  either  in  severe  application,  or  excessive 
anxiety.  My  beloved  Poole  !  in  excessive  anxiety,  I  be- 
lieve it  might  originate.  I  have  a  blister  under  my  right 
ear,  and  I  take  twenty-five  drops  of  laudanum  every  five 
hours,  the  ease  and  spirits  gained  by  which  have  enabled 
me  to  write  you  this  flighty  but  not  exaggerated  account. 
With  a  gloomy  wantonness  of  imagination  I  had  been 
coquetting  with  the  hideous  possibles  of  disappointment. 
I  drank  fears  like  wormwood,  yea,  made  myself  drunken 
with  bitterness ;  for  my  ever  -  shaping  and  distrustful 
mind  still  mingled  gall-drops,  till  out  of  the  cup  of  hope 
I  almost  poisoned  myself  with  despair. 

Your  letter  is  dated  November  2d ;  I  wrote  to  you 
November  1st.  Your  sister  was  married  on  that  day ; 
and  on  that  day  several  times  I  felt  my  heart  overflowed 
with  such  tenderness  for  her  as  made  me  repeatedly  ejac- 
ulate prayers  in  her  behalf.  Such  things  are  strange. 
It  may  be  superstitious  to  think  about  such  correspond- 
ences ;  but  it  is  a  superstition  which  softens  the  heart  and 
leads  to  no  evil.  We  will  call  on  your  dear  sister  as  soon 
as  I  am  quite  well,  and  in  the  mean  time  I  will  write  a  few 
lines  to  her. 

I  am  anxious  beyond  measure  to  be  in  the  country  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  would  it  were  possible  to  get  a  tem- 
porary residence  till  Adscombe  is  ready  for  us.  I  would 


176  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

that  it  could  be  that  we  could  have  three  rooms  in  Bill 
Poole's  large  house  for  the  winter.  Will  you  try  to  look 
out  for  a  fit  servant  for  us  —  simple  of  heart,  physiognoin- 
ically  handsome,  and  scientific  in  vaccimulgence  ?  That 
last  word  is  a  new  one,  but  soft  in  sound  and  full  of  ex- 
pression. Vaccimulgence  !  I  am  pleased  with  the  word. 
Write  to  me  all  things  about  yourself.  Where  I  cannot 
advise  I  can  condole  and  communicate,  which  doubles 
joy,  halves  sorrow. 

Tell  me  whether  you  think  it  at  all  possible  to  make 
any  terms  with  William  Poole.  You  know  I  would  not 
wish  to  touch  with  the  edge  of  the  nail  of  my  great  toe 
the  line  which  should  be  but  half  a  barley-corn  out  of  the 
niche  of  the  most  trembling  delicacy.  I  will  write  Cruik- 
shank  to-morrow,  if  God  permit  me. 

God  bless  and  protect  you,  friend,  brother,  beloved  ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Sara's  best  love,  and  Lloyd's.  David  Hartley  is  well, 
saving  that  he  is  sometimes  inspired  by  the  god  .ZEolus, 
and  like  Isaiah,  "  his  bowels  sound  like  an  harp."  My 
filial  love  to  your  dear  mother.  Love  to  Ward.  Little 
Tommy,  I  often  think  of  thee. 

LXIII.     TO   THE   SAME. 

Monday  night,  November  7,  1796. 

MY  DEAREST  POOLE,  —  I  wrote  you  on  Saturday  night 
under  the  immediate  inspiration  of  laudanum,  and  wrote 
you  a  flighty  letter,  but  yet  one  most  accurately  descriptive 
both  of  facts  and  feelings.  Since  then  my  pains  have 
been  lessening,  and  the  greater  part  of  this  day  I  have 
enjoyed  perfect  ease,  only  I  am  totally  inappetent  of  food, 
and  languid,  even  to  an  inward  perishing. 

I  wrote  John  Cruikshank  this  morning,  and  this  mo- 
ment I  have  received  a  letter  from  him.  My  letter  written 
before  the  receipt  of  his  contains  everything  I  would 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  177 

write  in  answer  to  it,  and  I  do  not  like  to  write  to  him 
superfluously,  lest  I  should  break  in  on  his  domestic 
terrors  and  solitary  breedings  with  regard  to  Anna  Cruik- 
shank.1  May  the  Father  and  lover  of  the  meek  preserve 
that  meek  woman,  and  give  her  a  safe  and  joyful  deliver- 
ance ! 

I  wrote  this  morning  a  short  note  of  congratulatory 
kindliness  to  your  sister,  and  shall  be  eager  to  call  on  her, 
when  Legion  has  been  thoroughly  exorcised  from  my 
temple  and  cheeks.  Tell  Cruikshank  that  I  have  received 
his  letter,  and  thank  him  for  it. 

A  few  lines  in  your  last  letter  betokened,  I  thought, 
a  wounded  spirit.  Let  me  know  the  particulars,  my 
beloved  friend.  I  shall  forget  and  lose  my  own  anxieties 
while  I  am  healing  yours  with  cheerings  of  sympathy. 

I  met  with  the  following  sonnet  in  some  very  dull 
poems,  among  which  it  shone  like  a  solitary  star  when 
the  night  is  dark,  and  one  little  space  of  blue  uninvaded 
by  the  floating  blackness,  or,  if  a  terrestrial  simile  be  re- 
quired, like  a  red  carbuncle  on  a  negro's  nose.  From  the 
languor  and  exhaustion  to  which  pain  and  my  frequent 
doses  of  laudanum  have  reduced  me,  it  suited  the  feeble 
temper  of  [my]  mind,  and  I  have  transcribed  it  on  the 
other  page.  I  amused  myself  the  other  day  (having 
some  paper  at  the  printer's  which  I  could  employ  no 
other  way)  in  selecting  twenty-eight  sonnets,2  to  bind  up 
with  Bowles's.  I  charge  sixpence  for  them,  and  have  sent 
you  five  to  dispose  of.  I  have  only  printed  two  hundred, 
as  my  paper  held  out  to  no  more ;  and  dispose  of  them 
privately,  just  enough  to  pay  the  printing.  The  essay 
which  I  have  written  at  the  beginning  I  like.  ...  I  have 
likewise  sent  you  Burke's  pamphlet  which  was  given  to 
me ;  it  has  all  his  excellences  without  any  of  his  faults. 

1  It  was  to  this  lady  that  the  lines  Child  "  were  addressed.  Poetical 
"  On  the  Christening  of  a  Friend's  Works,  p.  83. 

2  See  Letter  LXVIIL,  p.  206,  note. 


178  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [Nov. 

This  parcel  I  send   to-morrow   morning,  enclosed   in   a 
parcel  to  Bill  Poole  of  Thurston. 

God  love  you,  my  affectionate  brother,  and  your  affec- 
tionate 

S.   T.   COLEEIDGE. 

SONNET. 

With  passive  joy  the  moment  I  survey 

When  welcome  Death  shall  set  my  spirit  free. 

My  soul !  the  prospect  brings  no  fear  to  thee, 

But  soothing  Fancy  rises  to  pourtray 

The  dear  and  parting  words  my  Friends  will  say  : 

With  secret  Pride  their  heaving  Breast  I  see, 

And  count  the  sorrows  that  will  flow  for  me. 

And  now  I  hear  my  lingering  knell  decay 

And  mark  the  Hearse  !     Methinks,  with  moisten'd  eye, 

CLARA  beholds  the  sad  Procession  move 

That  bears  me  to  the  Resting-place  of  Care, 

And  sighs,  "  Poor  youth  !  thy  Bosom  well  could  love, 

And  well  thy  Numbers  picture  Love's  despair." 

Vain  Dreams !  yet  such  as  make  it  sweet  to  die. 

LXIV.    TO   JOHN   THELWALL. 

Saturday,  November  19,  [1796]. 
Oxford  Street,  Bristol. 

MY  DEAR  THELWALL,  —  Ah  me  !  literary  adventure 
is  but  bread  and  cheese  by  chance.  I  keenly  sympathise 
with  you.  Sympathy,  the  only  poor  consolation  I  can 
offer  you.  Can  no  plan  be  suggested  ?  ...  Of  course  you 
have  read  the  "  Joan  of  Arc."  l  Homer  is  the  poet  for 
the  warrior,  Milton  for  the  religionist,  Tasso  for  women, 
Robert  Southey  for  the  patriot.  The  first  and  fourth 

1  The  preface  to  the  quarto  edi-  from  the  second  (1797)  and  subse- 

tion  of  Southey's   Joan   of  Arc  is  quent  editions.     It  was  afterwards 

dated  Bristol,  November,  1795,  but  republished,  with  additions,  in  Sibyl- 

the  volume  did  not  appear  till  the  line  Leaves  (1817)  as  "  The  Destiny 

following  spring.     Coleridge's  con-  of  Nations." 
tribution  to   Book  II.  was  omitted 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  179 

books  of  the  "  Joan  of  Arc  "  are  to  me  more  interesting 
than  the  same  number  of  lines  in  any  poem  whatever.  But 
you  and  I,  my  dear  Thelwall,  hold  different  creeds  in 
poetry  as  well  as  religion.  N'importe  !  By  the  bye,  of 
your  works  I  have  now  all,  except  your  "  Essay  on  Ani- 
mal Vitality  "  which  I  never  had,  and  your  Poems,  which 
I  bought  on  their  first  publication,  and  lost  them.  From 
these  poems  I  should  have  supposed  our  poetical  tastes 
more  nearly  alike  than,  I  find,  they  are.  The  poem  on  the 
Sols  [?]  flashes  genius  through  Strophe  I,  Antistrophe  I, 
and  Epode  I.  The  rest  I  do  not  perhaps  understand, 
only  I  love  these  two  lines  :  — 

"  Yet  sure  the  verse  that  shews  the  friendly  mind 
To  Friendship's  ear  not  harshly  flows." 

Your  larger  narrative  affected  me  greatly.  It  is  admira- 
bly written,  and  displays  strong  sense  animated  by  feel- 
ing, and  illumined  by  imagination,  and  neither  in  the 
thoughts  nor  rhythm  does  it  encroach  on  poetry. 

There  have  been  two  poems  of  mine  in  the  new 
"  Monthly  Magazine,"  l  with  my  name  ;  indeed,  I  make  it 
a  scruple  of  conscience  never  to  publish  anything,  how- 
ever trifling,  without  it.  Did  you  like  them  ?  The  first 
was  written  at  the  desire  of  a  beautiful  little  aristocrat ; 
consider  it  therefore  as  a  lady's  poem.  Bowles  (the  bard 
of  my  idolatry)  has  written  a  poem  lately  without  plan 
or  meaning,  but  the  component  parts  are  divine.  It  is 
entitled  "  Hope,  an  Allegorical  Sketch."  I  will  copy 
two  of  the  stanzas,  which  must  be  peculiarly  interesting 
to  you,  virtuous  high-treasonist,  and  your  friends  the 
democrats. 

1  The   lines  "  On   a  late  Connu-  appeared  in  the  following  number, 

bial  Rupture  "  were  printed  in  the  It  was  headed,  "  Reflections  on  en- 

Monthly   Magazine    for   September,  tering  into  active  Life.      A  Poem 

179(3.     The    well-known   poem   be-  which  affects  not  to  be  Poetry." 
ginning  ' '  Low  was  our  pretty  Cot " 


180       .  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Nov. 

"  But  see,  as  one  awaked  from  deadly  trance, 

With  hollow  and  dim  eyes,  and  stony  stare, 
Captivity  with  faltering  step  advance ! 

Dripping  and  knotted  was  her  coal-black  hair : 
For  she  had  long  been  hid,  as  in  the  grave ; 

No  sounds  the  silence  of  her  prison  broke, 
Nor  one  companion  had  she  in  her  cave 

Save  Terror's  dismal  shape,  that  no  word  spoke, 
But  to  a  stony  coffin  on  the  floor 
With  lean  and  hideous  finger  pointed  evermore. 

"  The  lark's  shrill  song,  the  early  village  chime, 

The  upland  echo  of  the  winding  horn, 
The  far-heard  clock  that  spoke  the  passing  time, 

Had  never  pierced  her  solitude  forlorn : 
At  length  released  from  the  deep  dungeon's  gloom 

She  feels  the  fragrance  of  the  vernal  gale, 
She  sees  more  sweet  the  living  landscape  bloom, 

And  while  she  listens  to  Hope's  tender  tale, 
She  thinks  her  long-lost  friends  shall  bless  her  sight, 
And  almost  faints  for  joy  amidst  the  broad  daylight." 

The  last  line  is  exquisite. 

Your  portrait  of  yourself  interested  me.  As  to  me,  my 
face,  unless  when  animated  by  immediate  eloquence,  ex- 
presses great  sloth,  and  great,  indeed,  almost  idiotic  good- 
nature. 'T  is  a  mere  carcass  of  a  face  ; 1  fat,  flabby,  and 
expressive  chiefly  of  inexpression.  Yet  I  am  told  that 
my  eyes,  eyebrows,  and  forehead  are  physiognomically 
good  ;  but  of  this  the  deponent  knoweth  not.  As  to  my 
shape,  't  is  a  good  shape  enough  if  measured,  but  my  gait 
is  awkward,  and  the  walk  of  the  whole  man  indicates  in- 
dolence capable  of  energies.  I  am,  and  ever  have  been,  a 
great  reader,  and  have  read  almost  everything  —  a  library 

1  Compare    the    following    lines  seventeen,  remarkable  for  a  plump 

from  an  early  transcript  of  "  Happi-  face." 

ness  "  now  in  my  possession  :  —  The  "  Reminiscences  of  an  Octo- 

"  Ah  !  doubly  blest  if  Love  supply  genarian  "     (The      Rev.     Leapidge 

Lustre  to  the  now  heavy  eye,  Smith),  contributed   to  the    Leisure 

And  with  unwonted  spirit  grace  Hour,  convey  a  different  impression  : 

That  fat  vacuity  of  face."  «  ^  pepgon  he  wag  a  taUj  dark>  hand_ 

The  transcriber  adds  in  a  footnote,     some  young  man,  with  long,  black, 
' '  The  author  was  at  this  time,  at    flowing  hair  ;  eyes  not  merely  dark, 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  181 

cormorant.  I  am  deep  in  all  out  of  the  way  books, 
whether  of  the  monkish  times,  or  of  the  puritanical  era. 
I  have  read  and  digested  most  of  the  historical  writers  ; 
but  I  do  not  like  history.  Metaphysics  and  poetry  and 
"  facts  of  mind,"  that  is,  accounts  of  all  the  strange  phan- 
tasms that  ever  possessed  "  your  philosophy  ;  "  dreamers, 
from  Thoth  the  Egyptian  to  Taylor  the  English  pagan, 
are  my  darling  studies.  In  short,  I  seldom  read  except  to 
amuse  myself,  and  I  am  almost  always  reading.  Of  use- 
ful knowledge,  I  am  a  so-so  chemist,  and  I  love  chemistry. 
All  else  is  blank;  but  I  will  be  (please  God)  an  horticul- 
t  turalist  and  a  farmer.  I  compose  very  little,  and  I  abso-  ! 
A  lutely  hate  composition,  and  such  is  my  dislike  that  even 
a  sense  of  duty  is  sometimes  too  weak  to  overpower  it. 

I  cannot  breathe  through  my  nose,  so  my  mouth,  with  ' 
sensual  thick  lips,  is  almost  always  open.  In  conversa- 
tion I  am  impassioned,  and  oppose  what  I  deem  error 
with  an  eagerness  which  is  often  mistaken  for  personal 
asperity;  but  I  am  ever  so  swallowed  up  in  the  thing 
that  I  perfectly  forget  my  opponent.  Such  am  I.  I  am 
just  going  to  read  Dupuis'  twelve  octavos,1  which  I  have 
got  from  London.  I  shall  read  only  one  octavo  a  week, 
for  I  cannot  speak  French  at  all  and  I  read  it  slowly. 

My  wife  is  well  and  desires  to  be  remembered  to  you 
and  your  Stella  and  little  ones.  N.  B.  Stella  (among 
the  Romans)  was  a  man's  name.  All  the  classics  are 
against  you ;  but  our  Swift,  I  suppose,  is  authority  for 
this  unsexing. 

Write  on  the  receipt  of  this,  and  believe  me  as  ever, 
with  affectionate  esteem,  Your  sincere  friend, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

but  black,  and  keenly  penetrating  ;  and,  added  to  all  these,  exhibiting 

a  fine  forehead,  a  deep-toned,  har-  the  elements   of  his   future   great- 

monious  voice  ;  a  manner  never  to  ness."  —  Leisure  Hour,  1870,  p.  651. 

be  forgotten,  full  of   life,  vivacity,  1  Origine   de   tous   les   Cultes,    ou 

and  kindness ;    dignified   in  person  Beligion  universelle. 


182  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

P.  S.  I  have  enclosed  a  five-guinea  note.  The  five 
shillings  over  please  to  lay  out  for  me  thus.  In  White's 
(of  Fleet  Street  or  the  Strand,  I  forget  which  —  O  !  the 
Strand  I  believe,  but  I  don't  know  which),  well,  in 
White's  catalogue  are  the  following  books :  — 

4674.  lamblichus,1  Proclus,  Porphyrius,  etc.,  one  shil- 
ling and  sixpence,  one  little  volume. 

4686.  Juliani  Opera,  three  shillings  :  which  two  books 
you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  purchase  for  me,  and  send  down 
with  the  twenty-five  pamphlets.  But  if  they  should  un- 
fortunately be  sold,  in  the  same  catalogue  are :  — 

2109.  Juliani  Opera,  12s.  6d. 

676.  lamblichus  de  Mysteriis,  10s.  6d. 

2681.  Sidonius  Apollinaris,  6s. 

And  in  the  catalogue  of  Robson,  the  bookseller  in  New 
Bond  Street,  Plotini  Opera,  a  Ficino,  £1.1.0,  making 
altogether  £2.10.0. 

If  you  can  get  the  two  former  little  books,  costing  only 
four  and  sixpence,  I  will  rest  content  with  them ;  if  they 
are  gone,  be  so  kind  as  to  purchase  for  me  the  others  I 
mentioned  to  you,  amounting  to  two  pounds,  ten  shillings  ; 
and,  as  in  the  course  of  next  week  I  shall  send  a  small  par- 
cel of  books  and  manuscripts  to  my  very  dear  Charles 
Lamb  of  the  India  House,  I  shall  be  enabled  to  convey 
the  money  to  you  in  a  letter,  which  he  will  leave  at  your 
house.  I  make  no  apology  for  this  commission,  because 
I  feel  (to  use  a  vulgar  phrase)  that  I  would  do  as  much 
for  you.  P.  P.  S.  Can  you  buy  them  time  enough  to  send 
down  with  your  pamphlets  ?  If  not,  make  a  parcel  per  se. 
I  hope  your  hurts  from  the  fall  are  not  serious  ;  you  have 
given  a  proof  now  that  you  are  no  Ippokrite,,  but  I  forgot 
that  you  are  not  a  Greekist,  and  perchance  you  hate  puns ; 
but,  in  Greek,  I&ites  signifies  a  judge  and  hippos  a 

1  Thelwall  executed  his  commis-  Coleridge  to  his  son  Derwent.  They 
sion.  The  lamblichus  and  the  Ju-  are  still  in  the  possession  of  the 
lian  were  afterwards  presented  by  family. 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  183 

horse.    Hippocrite,  therefore,  may  mean  &  judge  of  horses. 
My  dear  fellow,  I  laugh  more  and  talk  more  nonsense  in 
a  week  than  [most]  other  people  do  in  a  year.     Farewell. 
JOHN  THELWALL, 

Beaufort  Buildings,  Strand,  London. 

LXV.     TO   THOMAS   POOLE.1 

Sunday  morning,  December  11,  1796. 

MY  BELOVED  POOLE,  —  The  sight  of  your  villainous 
hand-scrawl  was  a  great  comfort  to  me.  How  have  you 
been  diverted  in  London  ?  What  of  the  theatres  ?  And 
how  found  you  your  old  friends  ?  I  dined  with  Mr.  King 
yesterday  week.  He  is  quantum  suff:  a  pleasant  man, 
and  (my  wife  says)  very  handsome.  Hymen  lies  in  the 
arms  of  Hygeia,  if  one  may  judge  by  your  sister ;  she 
looks  remarkably  well !  But  has  she  not  caught  some 
complaint  in  the  head  ?  Some  scurfy  disorder  ?  For  her 
hair  was  filled  with  an  odious  white  Dandruff.  ("  N.  B. 
Nothing  but  powder,"  Mrs.  King.)  About  myself,  I 
have  so  much  to  say  that  I  really  can  say  nothing.  I 
mean  to  work  very  hard — as  Cook,  Butler,  Scullion, 
Shoe-cleaner,  occasional  Nurse,  Gardener,  Hind,  Pig-pro- 
tector, Chaplain,  Secretary,  Poet,  Reviewer,  and  omnium- 
botherum  shilling-Scavenger.  In  other  words,  I  shall 
keep  no  servant,  and  will  cultivate  my  land-acre  and  my 
wise-acres,  as  well  as  I  can.  The  motives  which  led  to 
this  determination  are  numerous  and  weighty;  I  have 

1  The  three  letters  to  Poole,  dated  account  or  his  own  it  was  among 
December  11,  12,  and  13,  relative  the  few  papers  retained  by  Poole 
to  Coleridge's  residence  at  Stowey,  when,  to  quote  Mrs.  Sandford,  "in 
were  published  for  the  first  time  in  1836  he  placed  the  greater  num- 
Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends.  The  ber  of  the  letters  which  he  had  re- 
long  letter  of  expostulation,  dated  ceived  from  S.  T.  Coleridge  at  the 
December  13,  which  is  in  fact  a  disposal  of  his  literary  executors 
continuation  of  that  dated  Decem-  for  biographical  purposes."  Thomas 
ber  12,  is  endorsed  by  Poole :  "  An  Poole  and  his  Friends,  i.  182-193. 
angry  letter,  but  the  breach  was  Mrs.  Sandford  has  kindly  permitted 
soon  healed."  Either  on  Coleridge's  me  to  reprint  it  in  extenso. 


184  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [Dsc. 

thought  much  and  calmly,  and  calculated  time  and  money 
with  unexceptionable  accuracy ;  and  at  length  determined 
not  to  take  the  charge  of  Charles  Lloyd's  mind  on  me. 
Poor  fellow !  he  still  hopes  to  live  with  me  —  is  now  at 
Birmingham.  I  wish  that  little  cottage  by  the  roadside 
were  gettable  ?  That  with  about  two  or  three  rooms  —  it 
would  quite  do  for  us,  as  we  shall  occupy  only  two  rooms. 
I  will  write  more  fully  on  the  receipt  of  yours.  God  love 
you  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LXVI.    TO   THE   SAME. 

December  12,  1796. 

You  tell  me,  my  dear  Poole,  that  my  residence  near 
you  would  give  you  great  pleasure,  and  I  am  sure  that  if 
you  had  any  objections  on  your  own  account  to  my  set- 
tling near  Stowey  you  would  have  mentioned  them  to  me. 
Relying  on  this,  I  assure  you  that  a  disappointment  would 
try  my  philosophy.  Your  letter  did  indeed  give  me  un- 
expected and  most  acute  pain.  I  will  make  the  cottage 
do.  We  want  but  three  rooms.  If  Cruikshank  have 
promised  more  than  his  circumstances  enable  him  to  per- 
form, I  am  sure  that  I  can  get  the  other  purchased  by  my 
friends  in  Bristol.  I  mean,  the  place  at  Adscombe.  I 
wrote  him  pressingly  on  this  head  some  ten  days  ago ; 
but  he  has  returned  me  no  answer.  Lloyd  has  obtained 
his  father's  permission  and  will  return  to  me.  He  is  will- 
ing to  be  his  own  servant.  As  to  Acton,  't  is  out  of  the 
question.  In  Bristol  I  have  Cottle  and  Estlin  (for  Mr. 
Wade  is  going  away)  willing  and  eager  to  serve  me  •  but 
how  they  can  serve  me  more  effectually  at  Acton  than  at 
Stowey,  I  cannot  divine.  If  I  live  at  Stowey,  you  indeed 
can  serve  me  effectually,  by  assisting  me  in  the  acquire- 
ment of  agricultural  practice.  If  you  can  instruct  me  to 
manage  an  acre  and  a  half  of  land,  and  to  raise  in  it,  with 
my  own  hands,  all  kinds  of  vegetables  and  grain,  enough 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  185 

for  myself  and  my  wife  and  sufficient  to  feed  a  pig  or 
two  with  the  refuse,  I  hope  that  you  will  have  served  me 
most  effectually  by  placing  me  out  of  the  necessity  of 
being  served.  I  receive  about  forty  guineas  yearly  from 
the  "  Critical  Eeview  "  and  the  new  "  Monthly  Magazine." 
It  is  hard  if  by  my  greater  works  I  do  not  get  twenty  more. 
I  know  how  little  the  human  mind  requires  when  it  is 
tranquil,  and  in  proportion  as  I  should  find  it  difficult  to 
simplify  my  wants  it  becomes  my  duty  to  simplify  them. 
For  there  must  be  a  vice  in  my  nature,  which  woe  be  to 
me  if  I  do  not  cure.  The  less  meat  I  eat  the  more 
healthy  I  am ;  and  strong  liquors  of  any  kind  always  and 
perceptibly  injure  me.  Sixteen  shillings  would  cover  all 
the  weekly  expenses  of  my  wife,  infant,  and  myself.  This 
I  say  from  my  wife's  own  calculation. 

But  whence  this  sudden  revolution  in  your  opinions, 
my  dear  Poole  ?  You  saw  the  cottage  that  was  to  be  our 
temporary  residence,  and  thought  we  might  be  liappy  in 
it,  and  now  you  hurry  to  tell  me  that  we  shall  not  even  be 
comfortable  in  it.  You  tell  me  I  shall  be  "  too  far  from  my 
friends"  that  is,  Cottle  and  Estlin,  for  I  have  no  other  in 
Bristol.  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  can  Cottle  or  Est- 
lin [do]  for  me  ?  They  do  nothing  who  do  not  teach  me 
how  to  be  independent  of  any  except  the  Almighty  Dis- 
penser of  sickness  and  health.  And  "  too  far  from  the 
press."  With  the  printing  of  the  review  and  the  magazine 
I  have  no  concern ;  and,  if  I  publish  any  work  on  my  own 
account,  I  will  send  a  fair  and  faultless  copy,  and  Cottle 
promises  to  correct  the  press  for  me.  Mr.  King's  family 
may  be  very  worthy  sort  of  people,  for  aught  I  know ;  but 
assuredly  I  can  employ  my  time  wiselier  than  to  gabble 
with  my  tongue  to  beings  with  whom  neither  my  head 
nor  heart  can  commune.  My  habits  and  feelings  have  suf- 
fered a  total  alteration.  I  hate  company  except  of  my 
dearest  friends,  and  systematically  avoid  it ;  and  when  in 
it  keep  silence  as  far  as  social  humanity  will  permit  me. 


186  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

Lloyd's  father,  in  a  letter  to  me  yesterday,  enquired  how 
I  should  live  without  any  companions.  I  answered  him 
not  an  hour  before  I  received  your  letter :  — 

"  I  shall  have  six  companions :  My  Sara,  my  babe,  my 
own  shaping  and  disquisitive  mind,  my  books,  my  beloved 
friend  Thomas  Poole,  and  lastly,  Nature  looking  at  me 
with  a  thousand  looks  of  beauty,  and  speaking  to  me  in 
a  thousand  melodies  of  love.  If  I  were  capable  of  being 
tired  with  all  these,  I  should  then  detect  a  vice  in  my 
nature,  and  would  fly  to  habitual  solitude  to  eradicate  it." 

Yes,  my  friend,  while  I  opened  your  letter  my  .heart 
was  glowing  with  enthusiasm  towards  you.  How  little 
did  I  expect  that  I  should  find  you  earnestly  and  vehe- 
mently persuading  me  to  prefer  Acton  to  Stowey,  and  in 
return  for  the  loss  of  your  society  recommending  Mr. 
King's  family  as  "very  pleasant  neighbours."  Neigh- 
bours !  Can  mere  juxtaposition  form  a  neighbourhood  ? 
As  well  should  the  louse  in  my  head  call  himself  my 
friend,  and  the  flea  in  my  bosom  style  herself  my  love ! 

On  Wednesday  week  we  must  leave  our  house,  so  that 
if  you  continue  to  dissuade  me  from  settling  near  Stowey 
I  scarcely  know  what  I  shall  do.  Surely,  my  beloved 
friend,  there  must  be  some  reason  which  you  have  not  yet 
told  me,  which  urged  you  to  send  this  hasty  and  heart- 
chilling  letter.  I  suspect  that  something  has  passed 
between  your  sister  and  dear  mother  (in  whose  illness  I 
sincerely  sympathise  with  you). 

I  have  never  considered  my  settlement  at  Stowey  in 
any  other  relation  than  its  advantages  to  myself,  and  they 
would  be  great  indeed.  My  objects  (assuredly  wise  ones) 
were  to  learn  agriculture  (and  where  should  I  get  in- 
structed except  at  Stowey  ?)  and  to  be  where  I  can  com- 
municate in  a  literary  way.  I  must  conclude.  I  pray  you 
let  me  hear  from  you  immediately.  God  bless  you  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  187 


LXVII.    TO   THE   SAME. 

Monday  night. 

I  wrote  the  former  letter  immediately  on  receipt  of 
yours,  in  the  first  flutter  of  agitation.  The  tumult  of  my 
spirits  has  now  subsided,  but  the  Damp  struck  into  my 
very  heart ;  and  there  I  feel  it.  O  my  God  !  my  God ! 
where  am  I  to  find  rest  ?  Disappointment  follows  disap- 
pointment, and  Hope  seems  given  me  merely  to  prevent 
my  becoming  callous  to  Misery.  Now  I  know  not  where 
to  turn  myself.  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  City  Library, 
and  wrote  an  answer  to  it  there.  Since  I  have  returned 
I  have  been  poring  into  a  book,  as  a  shew  for  not  look- 
ing at  my  wife  and  the  baby.  By  God,  I  dare  not  look 
at  them.  Acton !  The  very  name  makes  me  grind  my 
teeth  !  What  am  I  to  do  there  ? 

"  You  will  have  a  good  garden  ;  you  may,  I  doubt  not, 
have  ground."  But  am  I  not  ignorant  as  a  child  of  every- 
thing that  concerns  the  garden  and  the  ground  ?  and  shall 
I  have  one  human  being  there  who  will  instruct  me  ? 
The  House  too  —  what  should  I  do  with  it  ?  We  want 
but  two  rooms,  or  three  at  the  furthest.  And  the  country 
around  is  intolerably  flat.  I  would  as  soon  live  on  the 
banks  of  a  Dutch  canal !  And  no  one  human  being  near 
me  for  whom  I  should,  or  could,  care  a  rush !  No  one 
walk  where  the  beauties  of  nature  might  endear  solitude  to 
me  !  There  is  one  Ghost  that  I  am  afraid  of  ;  with  that  I 
should  be  perpetually  haunted  in  this  same  cursed  Acton  — 
the  hideous  Ghost  of  departed  Hope.  O  Poole !  how  could 
you  make  such  a  proposal  to  me?  I  have  compelled 
myself  to  reperuse  your  letter,  if  by  any  means  I  may  be 
able  to  penetrate  into  your  motives.  I  find  three  reasons 
assigned  for  my  not  settling  at  Stowey.  The  first,  the 
distance  from  my  friends  and  the  Press.  This  I  answered 
in  the  former  letter.  As  to  my  friends,  what  can  they  do 
for  me?  And  as  to  the  Press,  even  if  Cottle  had  not 


188  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

promised  to  correct  it  for  me,  yet  I  might  as  well  be  fifty 
miles  from  it  as  twelve,  for  any  purpose  of  correcting. 
Secondly,  the  expense  of  moving.  Well,  but  I  must 
move  to  Acton,  and  what  will  the  difference  be  ?  Per- 
haps three  guineas.  ...  I  would  give  three  guineas  that 
you  had  not  assigned  this  reason.  Thirdly,  the  wretch- 
edness of  that  cottage,  which  alone  we  can  get.  But 
surely,  in  the  house  which  I  saw,  two  rooms  may  be 
found,  which,  by  a  little  green  list  and  a  carpet,  and  a 
slight  alteration  in  the  fireplace,  may  be  made  to  exclude 
the  cold :  and  this  is  all  we  want.  Besides,  it  will  be  but 
for  a  while.  If  Cruikshank  cannot  buy  and  repair 
Adscombe,  I  have  no  doubt  that  my  friends  here  and  at 
Birmingham  would,  some  of  them,  purchase  it.  So  much 
for  the  reasons  :  but  these  cannot  be  the  real  reasons. 
I  was  with  you  for  a  week,  and  then  we  talked  over  the 
whole  scheme,  and  you  approved  of  it,  and  I  gave  up 
Derby.  More  than  nine  weeks  have  elapsed  since  then, 
and  you  saw  and  examined  the  cottage,  and  you  knew 
every  other  of  these  reasons,  if  reasons  they  can  be  called. 
Surely,  surely,  my  friend,  something  has  occurred  which 
you  have  not  mentioned  to  me.  Your  mother  has  mani- 
fested a  strong  dislike  to  our  living  near  you  —  or  some- 
thing or  other  ;  for  the  reasons  you  have  assigned  tell 
me  nothing  except  that  there  are  reasons  which  you  have 
not  assigned. 

Pardon,  if  I  write  vehemently.  I  meant  to  have  writ- 
ten calmly ;  but  bitterness  of  soul  came  upon  me.  Mrs. 
Coleridge  has  observed  the  workings  of  my  face  while  I 
have  been  writing,  and  is  entreating  to  know  what  is  the 
matter.  I  dread  to  show  her  your  letter.  I  dread  it. 
My  God !  my  God !  What  if  she  should  dare  to  think 
that  my  most  beloved  friend  has  grown  cold  towards  me  ! 

Tuesday  morning,  11  o'clock.  —  After  an  unquiet  and 
almost  sleepless  night,  I  resume  my  pen.  As  the  senti- 
ments over  leaf  came  into  my  heart,  I  will  not  suppress 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  189 

them.  I  would  keep  a  letter  by  me  which  I  wrote  to  a 
mere  acquaintance,  lest  anything  unwise  should  be  found 
in  it ;  but  my  friend  ought  to  know  not  only  what  my 
sentiments  are,  but  what  my  feelings  were. 

I  am,  indeed,  perplexed  and  cast  down.  My  first  plan, 
you  know,  was  this  —  My  family  was  to  have  consisted  of 
Charles  Lloyd,  my  wife  and  wife's  mother,  my  infant,  the 
servant,  and  myself. 

My  means  of  maintaining  them  —  Eighty  pounds  a  year 
from  Charles  Lloyd,  and  forty  from  the  Review  and  Mag- 
azine. My  time  was  to  have  been  divided  into  four  parts : 
1.  Three  hours  after  breakfast  to  studies  with  C.  L.  2. 
The  remaining  hours  till  dinner  to  our  garden.  3.  From 
after  dinner  till  tea,  to  letter-writing  and  domestic  quiet- 
ness. 4.  From  tea  till  prayer-time  to  the  reviews,  maga- 
zines, and  other  literary  labours. 

In  this  plan  I  calculated  nothing  on  my  garden  but 
amusement.  In  the  mean  time  I  heard  from  Birmingham 
that  Lloyd's  father  had  declared  that  he  should  insist  on 
his  son's  returning  to  him  at  the  close  of  a  twelvemonth. 
What  am  I  to  do  then  ?  I  shall  be  again  afloat  on  the 
wide  sea,  unpiloted  and  unprovisioned.  I  determined  to 
devote  my  whole  day  to  the  acquirement  of  practical 
horticulture,  to  part  with  Lloyd  immediately,  and  live 
without  a  servant.  Lloyd  intreated  me  to  give  up  the 
Review  and  Magazine,  and  devote  the  evenings  to  him, 
but  this  would  be  to  give  up  a  permanent  for  a  temporary 
situation,  and  after  subtracting  £40  from  C.  Ll.'s  .£80  in 
return  for  the  Review  business,  and  then  calculating  the 
expense  of  a  servant,  a  less  severe  mode  of  general  living, 
and  Lloyd's  own  board  and  lodging,  the  remaining  £40 
would  make  but  a  poor  figure.  And  what  was  I  to  do 
at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth?  In  the  mean  time  Mrs. 
Fricker's  son  could  not  be  got  out  as  an  apprentice  —  he 
was  too  young,  and  premiumless,  and  no  one  would  take 
him  ;  and  the  old  lady  herself  manifested  a  great  aversion 


190  EARLY   PUBLIC   LIFE  [DEC. 

to  leaving  Bristol.  I  recurred  therefore  to  my  first  prom- 
ise of  allowing  her  <£20  a  year ;  but  all  her  furniture 
must  of  course  be  returned,  and  enough  only  remains  to 
furnish  one  bedroom  and  a  kitchen-parlour. 

If  Charles  Lloyd  and  the  servant  went  with  me  I  must 
have  bought  new  furniture  to  the  amount  of  .£40  or  <£50, 
which,  if  not  Impossibility  in  person,  was  Impossibility's 
first  cousin.  We  determined  to  live  by  ourselves.  We 
arranged  our  time,  money,  and  employments.  We  found 
it  not  only  practicable  but  easy;  and  Mrs.  Coleridge 
entered  with  enthusiasm  into  the  scheme. 

To  Mrs.  Coleridge  the  nursing  and  sewing  only  would 
have  belonged ;  the  rest  I  took  upon  myself,  and  since 
our  resolution  have  been  learning  the  practice.  With 
only  two  rooms  and  two  people  —  their  wants  severely 
simple  —  no  great  labour  can  there  be  in  their  waiting  upon 
themselves.  Our  washing  we  should  put  out.  I  should 
have  devoted  my  whole  head,  heart,  and  body  to  my  acre 
and  a  half  of  garden  land,  and  my  evenings  to  literature. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Estlin  approved,  admired,  and  applauded 
the  scheme,  and  thought  it  not  only  highly  virtuous,  but 
highly  prudent.  In  the  course  of  a  year  and  a  half,  I 
doubt  not  that  I  should  feel  myself  independent,  for  my 
bodily  strength  would  have  increased,  and  I  should  have 
been  weaned  from  animal  food,  so  as  never  to  touch  it 
but  once  a  week ;  and  there  can  be  no  shadow  of  a  doubt 
that  an  acre  and  a  half  of  land,  divided  properly,  and 
managed  properly,  would  maintain  a  small  family  in 
everything  but  clothes  and  rent.  What  had  I  to  ask  of 
my  friends  ?  Not  money ;  for  a  temporary  relief  of  my 
want  is  nothing,  removes  no  gnawing  of  anxiety,  and  de- 
bases the  dignity  of  man.  Not  their  interest.  What 
could  their  interest  (supposing  they  had  any)  do  for  me? 
I  can  accept  no  place  in  state,  church,  or  dissenting  meet- 
ing. Nothing  remains  possible  but  a  school,  or  writer  to  a 
newspaper,  or  my  present  plan.  I  could  not  love  the  man 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  191 

who  advised  me  to  keep  a  school,  or  write  for  a  newspaper. 
He  must  have  a  hard  heart.  What  then  could  I  ask  of 
my  friends  ?  What  of  Mr.  Wade  ?  Nothing.  What  of 

Mr.  Cottle  ?     Nothing What  of  Thomas  Poole  ?    O  ! 

a  great  deal.  Instruction,  daily  advice,  society  —  every- 
thing necessary  to  my  feeiings  and  the  realization  of  my 
innocent  independence.  You  know  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  me  to  learn  everything  myself.  To  pass  across 
my  garden  once  or  twice  a  day,  for  five  minutes,  to  set 
me  right,  and  cheer  me  with  the  sight  of  a  friend's  face, 
would  be  more  to  me  than  hundreds.  Your  letter  was 
flot  a  kind  one.  One  week  only  and  I  must  leave  my 
house,  and  yet  in  one  week  you  advise  me  to  alter  the 
plan  which  I  had  been  three  months  framing,  and  in 
which  you  must  have  known  by  the  letters  I  wrote  you, 
during  .my  illness,  that  I  was  interested  even  to  an  excess 
and  violence  of  Hope.  And  to  abandon  this  plan  for  dark- 
ness and  a  renewal  of  anxieties  which  might  be  fatal  to 
me!  Not  one  word  have  you  mentioned  how  I  am  to 
live,  or  even  exist,  supposing  I  were  to  go  to  Acton. 
Surely,  surely,  you  do  not  advise  me  to  lean  with  the 
whole  weight  of  my  necessities  on  the  Press  ?  Ghosts 
indeed  !  I  should  be  haunted  with  ghosts  enough  —  the 
ghosts  of  Otway  and  Chatterton,  and  the  phantasms  of  a 
wife  broken-hearted,  and  a  hunger-bitten  baby !  O  Thomas 
Poole !  Thomas  Poole !  if  you  did  but  know  what  a 
Father  and  a  Husband  must  feel  who  toils  with  his  brain  ? 
for  uncertain  bread !  I  dare  not  think  of  it.  The  evil 
face  of  Frenzy  looks  at  me.  The  husbandman  puts  his 
seed  in  the  ground,  and  4he  goodness,  power,  and  wisdom  \ 
of  God  have  pledged  themselves  that  he  shall  have  bread,  < 
and  health,  and  quietness  in  return  for  industry,  and 
simplicity  of  wants  and  innocence.  The  AUTHOR  scatters 
his  seed  —  with  aching  head,  and  wasted  health,  and  all 
the  heart-leapings  of  anxiety ;  and  the  follies,  the  vices,  J 
and  the  fickleness  of  man  promise  him  printers'  bills  and 


192  EAKLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEc. 

the  Debtors'  Side  of  Newgate  as  full  and  sufficient  pay- 
ment. 

Charles  Lloyd  is  at  Birmingham.  I  hear  from  him 
daily.  In  his  yesterday's  letter  he  says :  "  My  dearest 
friend,  everything  seems  clearing  around  me.  My 
friends  enter  fully  into  my  views.  They  seem  altogether 
to  have  abandoned  any  ambitious  views  on  my  account. 
My  health  has  been  very  good  since  I  left  you ;  and  I 
own  I  look  forward  with  more  pleasure  than  ever  to  a 
permanent  connection  with  you.  Hitherto  I  could  only 
look  forward  to  the  pleasures  of  a  year.  All  beyond  was 
dark  and  uncertain.  My  father  now  completely  acqui- 
esces in  my  abandoning  the  prospect  of  any  profession  or 
trade.  If  God  grant  me  health,  there  now  remains  no 
obstacle  to  a  completion  of  my  most  sanguine  wishes." 
Charles  Lloyd  will  furnish  his  own  room,  and  feels  it  his 
duty  to  be  in  all  things  his  own  servant.  He  will  put  up 
a  press-bed,  so  that  one  room  will  be  his  bedchamber  and 
parlour ;  and  I  shall  settle  with  him  the  hours  and  seasons 
of  our  being  together,  and  the  hours  and  seasons  of  our 
being  apart.  But  I  shall  rely  on  him  for  nothing  except 
his  own  maintenance. 

As  to  the  poems,  they  are  Cottle's  property,  not  mine. 
There  is  no  obstacle  from  me  —  no  new  poems  intended  to 
be  put  in  the  volume,  except  the  "  Visions  of  the  Maid  of 
Orleans."  .  .  .  But  literature,  though  I  shall  never  aban- 
don it,  will  always  be  a  secondary  object  with  me.  My 
poetic  vanity  and  my  political  furor  have  been  exhaled ; 
and  I  would  rather  be  an  expert,  self-maintaining  gar- 
dener than  a  Milton,  if  I  could  Tlot  unite  both. 

My  friend,  wherein  I  have  written  impetuously,  par- 
don me  !  and  consider  what  I  have  suffered,  and  still  am 
suffering,  in  consequence  of  your  letter.  .  .  . 

Finally,  my  Friend  !  if  your  opinion  of  me  and  your 
attachment  to  me  remain  unaltered,  and  if  you  have  as- 
signed the  true  reasons  which  urged  you  to  dissuade  me 
from  a  settlement  at  Stowey,  and  if  indeed  (provided 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  193 

such  settlement  were  consistent  with  my  good  and  happi- 
ness}, it  would  give  you  unmixed  pleasure,  I  adhere  to 
Stowey,  and  consider  the  time  from  last  evening  as  a  dis- 
tempered dream.  But  if  any  circumstances  have  occurred 
that  have  lessened  your  love  or  esteem  or  confidence  ;  or 
if  there  be  objections  to  my  settling  in  Stowey  on  your 
own  account,  or  any  other  objections  than  what  you  have 
urged,  I  doubt  not  you  will  declare  them  openly  and  un- 
reservedly to  me,  in  your  answer  to  this,  which  I  shall 
expect  with  a  total  incapability  of  doing  or  thinking  of 
anything,  till  I  have  received  it.  Indeed,  indeed,  I  am 
very  miserable.  God  bless  you  and  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Tuesday,  December  13,  1796. 

LXVIII.    TO  JOHN  THELWALL. 

December  17,  1796. 

MY  DEAR  THELWALL,  —  I  should  have  written  you  long 
ere  this,  had  not  the  settlement  of  my  affairs  previous  to 
my  leaving  Bristol  and  the  organization  of  my  new  plan 
occupied  me  with  bulky  anxieties  that  almost  excluded 
everything  but  self  from  my  thoughts.  And,  besides, 
my  health  has  been  very  bad,  and  remains  so.  A  nervous 
affection  from  my  right  temple  to  the  extremity  of  my  right 
shoulder  almost  distracted  me,  and  made  the  frequent  use 
of  laudanum  absolutely  necessary.  And,  since  I  have  sub- 
dued this,  a  rheumatic  complaint  in  the  back  of  my  head 
and  shoulders,  accompanied  with  sore  throat  and  depres- 
sion of  the  animal  spirits,  has  convinced  me  that  a  man 
may  change  bad  lodgers  without  bettering  himself.  I 
write  these  things,  not  so  much  to  apologise  for  my  silence, 
or  for  the  pleasure  of  complaining,  as  that  you  may 
know  the  reason  why  I  have  not  given  you  a  "  strict  ac- 
count "  how  I  have  disposed  of  your  books.  This  I  will 
shortly  do,  with  all  the  veracity  which  that  solemn  incan- 
tation, "  upon  your  honour,"  must  necessarily  have  con- 
jured up. 

Your  second  and  third  part  promise  great  things.     I 


194  EAKLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [DEC. 

have  counted  the  subjects,  and  by  a  nice  calculation  find 
that  eighteen  Scotch  doctors  would  write  fifty-four  quarto 
volumes,  each  choosing  his  thesis  out  of  your  syllabus. 
May  you  do  good  by  them,  and  moreover  enable  yourself  to 
do  more  good,  I  should  say,  to  continue  to  do  good.  My 
farm  will  be  a  garden  of  one  acre  and  a  half,  in  which 
I  mean  to  raise  vegetables  and  corn  enough  for  myself 
and  wife,  and  feed  a  couple  of  snouted  and  grunting 
cousins  from  the  refuse.  My  evenings  I  shall  devote  to 
literature ;  and,  by  reviews,  the  magazine,  and  the  other 
shilling  -  scavenger  employments,  shall  probably  gain 
forty  pounds  a  year;  which  economy  and  self-denial, 
gold-beaters,  shall  hammer  till  it  cover  my  annual  ex- 
penses. Now,  in  favour  of  this  scheme,  I  shall  say  nothing, 
for  the  more  vehement  my  ratiocinations  were,  previous 
to  the  experiment,  the  more  ridiculous  my  failure  would 
appear ;  and  if  the  scheme  deserve  the  said  ratiocinations 
I  shall  live  down  all  your  objections.  I  doubt  not  that 
the  time  will  come  when  all  our  utilities  will  be  directed 
in  one  simple  path.  That  time,  however,  is  not  come  ;  and 
imperious  circumstances  point  out  to  each  one  his  particu- 
lar road.  Much  good  may  be  done  in  all.  I  am  not  Jit 
for_  public  life ;  yet  the  light  shall  stream  to  a  far  dis- 
tance from  my  cottage  window.  Meantime,  do  you  uplift 
the  torch  dreadlessly,  and  show  to  mankind  the  face  of 
that  idol  which  they  have  worshipped  in  darkness !  And 
now,  my  dear  fellow,  for  a  little  sparring  about  poetry. 
My  first  sonnet l  is  obscure  ;  but  you  ought  to  distinguish  "*] 
between  obscurity  residing  in  the  uncommonness  of  the 
thought,  and  that  which  proceeds  from  thoughts  uncon- 
nected and  language  not  adapted  to  the  expression  of 

"  Sonnet  composed  on  a  journey  lished   in  1797,  and   again  from  a  """ 

homeward,   the   author  having  re-  copy  of  the  same  sonnet  sent  in  a 

ceived  intelligence  of  the  birth  of  a  letter  to  Poole,  dated  November  1, 

son.     September  20,  1796."  1796.   See  Poetical  Works,  p.  66,  and 

The  opening  lines,  as  quoted  in  Editor's  Note,  p.  582. 
the  letter,  differ  from  those  pub- 


1796]  TO  JOHN   THELWALL  195 

them.  Where  you  do  find  out  the  meaning  of  my  poetry, 
can  you  (in  general,  I  mean)  alter  the  language  so  as  to 
make  it  more  perspicuous  —  the  thought  remaining  the 
same  ?  By  "  dreamy  semblance  "  I  did  mean  semblance 
of  some  unknown  past,  like  to  a  dream,  and  not  "  a  sem- 
blance presented  in  a  dream."  I  meant  to  express  that 
ofttimes,  for  a  second  or  two,  it  flashed  upon  my  mind 
that  the  then  company,  conversation,  and  everything,  had 
occurred  before  with  all  the  precise  circumstances ;  so  as 
to  make  reality  appear  a  semblance,  and  the  present  like 
a  dream  in  sleep.  Now  this  thought  is  obscure  ;  because 
few  persons  have  experienced  the  same  feeling.  Yet 
several  have ;  and  they  were  proportionably  delighted 
with  the  lines,  as  expressing  some  strange  sensations, 
which  they  themselves  had  never  ventured  to  communi- 
cate, much  less  had  ever  seen  developed  in  poetry.  The 
lines  I  have  altered  to,  — 

Oft  o'er  my  brain  does  that  strange  rapture  roll 
Which  makes  the  present  (while  its  brief  fit  last) 
Seem  a  mere  semblance  of  some  unknown  past, 
Mixed  with  such  feelings  as  distress  the  soul 
When  dreaming  that  she  dreams.1 

Next  as  to  "mystical."  Now  that  the  thinking  part  of 
man,  that  is,  the  soul,  existed  previously  to  its  appearance 
in  its  present  body  may  be  very  wild  philosophy,  but  it  is 
very  intelligible  poetry  ;  inasmuch  as  "  soul "  is  an  ortho- 
dox word  in  all  our  poets,  they  meaning  by  "  soul "  a  being 
inhabiting  our  body,  and  playing  upon  it,  like  a  musician 
enclosed  in  an  organ  whose  keys  were  placed  inwards. 
Now  this  opinion  I  do  not  hold  ;  not  that  I  am  a  materi- 
alist, but  because  I  am  a  Berkleyan.  Yet  as  you,  who  are 
not  a  Christian,  wished  you  were,  that  we  might  meet  in 
heaven,  so  I,  who  did  not  believe  in  this  descending  and 
incarcerated  soul,  yet  said  if  my  baby  had  died  before  I 

1  Coleridge's  Poetical  Works,  p.  66. 


196  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

had  seen  him  I  should  have  struggled  to  believe  it.  Bless 
me !  a  commentary  of  thirty-five  lines  in  defence  of  a  son- 
net !  and  I  do  not  like  the  sonnet  much  myself.  In  some 
(indeed,  in  many  of  my  poems)  there  is  a  garishness  and 
swell  of  diction  which  I  hope  that  my  poems  in  future,  if 
I  write  any,  will  be  clean  of,  but  seldom,  I  think,  any  con- 
ceits. In  the  second  edition,  now  printing,  I  have  swept 
the  book  with  the  expurgation-besom  to  a  fine  tune,  having 
omitted  nearly  one  third.  As  to  Bowles,  I  affirm  that  the 
manner  of  his  accentuation  in  the  words  "  br5ad  day- 
light "  (three  long  syllables)  is  a  beauty,  as  it  admirably 
expresses  the  captive's  dwelling  on  the  sight  of  noon  with 
rapture  and  a  kind  of  wonder. 

The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies 
To  him  are  opening  paradise. 

GRAY. 

But  supposing  my  defence  not  tenable ;  yet  how  a  blunder 
in  metre  stamps  a  man  Italian  or  Delia  Cruscan  I  can- 
not perceive.  As  to  my  own  poetry,  I  do  confess  that  it 
frequently,  both  in  thought  and  language,  deviates  from 
"nature  and  simplicity."  But  that  Bowles,  the  mo'st 
tender,  and,  with  the  exception  of  Burns,  the  only  always  \ 
natural  in  our  language,  that  he  should  not  escape  the 
charge  of  Delia  Cruscanism,  —  this  cuts  the  skin  and  sur- 
face of  my  heart.  "  Poetry  to  have  its  highest  relish  must 
be  impassioned."  True.  But,  firstly,  poetry  ought  not 
always  to  have  its  highest  relish ;  and,  secondly,  judging  of 
the  cause  from  its  effect,  poetry,  though  treating  on  lofty 
and  abstract  truths,  ought  to  be  deemed  impassioned  by 
him  who  reads  it  with  impassioned  feelings.  Now  CoE 
lins's  "  Ode  on  the  Poetical  Character,"  —  that  part  of  it, 
I  should  say,  beginning  with  "  The  band  (as  faery  legends 
say)  Was  wove  on  that  creating  day,"  —  has  inspired  and 
whirled  me  along  with  greater  agitations  of  enthusiasm 
than  any  the  most  impassioned  scene  in  Schiller  or  Shake- 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  197 

speare,  using  "impassioned"  in  its  confined  sense,  for 
writing  in  which  the  human  passions  of  pity,  fear,  anger, 
revenge,  jealousy,  or  love  are  brought  into  view  with  their 
workings.  Yet  I  consider  the  latter  poetry  as  more  valu- 
able, because  it  gives  more  general  pleasure,  and  I  judge 
of  all  things  by  their  utility.  I  feel  strongly  and  I  think 
strongly,  but  I  seldom  feel  without  thinking  or  think  with- 
out feeling  Hence,  though  my  poetry  has  in  general  a 
hue  of  tenderness  or  passion  over  it,  yet  it  seldom  exhib- 
its unmixed  and  simple  tenderness  or  passion.  My  philo- 
sophical opinions  are  blended  with  or  deduced  from  my 
feelings,  and  this,  I  think,  peculiarises  my  style  of  writing, 
and,  like  everything  else,  it  is  sometimes  a  beauty  and 
sometimes  a  fault.  But  do  not  let  us  introduce  an  Act  o'i 
Uniformity  against  Poets.  I  have  room  enough  in  my 
brain  to  admire,  aye,  and  almost  equally,  the  head  and 
fancy  of  Akenside,  and  the  heart  and  fancy  of  Bowles,  the 
solemn  lordliness  of  Milton,  and  the  divine  chit-chat  of 
Cowper.1  And  whatever  a  man's  excellence  is,  that  will 
be  likewise  his  fault. 

There  were  some  verses. of  yours  in  the  last  "Monthly 
Magazine  "  with  which  I  was  much  pleased  —  calm  good^ 
sense  combined  with  feeling,  and  conveyed  in  harmonious 
verse  and  a  chaste  and  pleasing  imagery.  I  wish  much, 
very  much,  to  see  your  other  poem.  As  to  your  Poems 
which  you  informed  me  in  the  accompanying  letter  that 
you  had  sent  in  the  same  parcel  with  the  pamphlets, 
whether  or  no  your  verses  had  more  than  their  proper 
number  of  feet  I  cannot  say;  but  certain  it  is,  that  some- 
how or  other  they  marched  of.  No  "  Poems  by  John 
Thelwall"  could  I  find.  When  I  charged  you  with  anti- 

1  Compare  Lamb's  letter  to  Cole-  the  '  divine  chit-chat  of  Cowper.'  " 

ridge,  December  5,  1796.     "I  am  Compare,  too,   letter  of   December 

glad  you  love  Cowper.     I  could  for-  10,  1796,  in  which  the  origin  of  the 

give  a  man  for  not  enjoying  Milton,  phrase   is   attributed   to   Coleridge, 

but  I  would  not  call  that  man  my  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb,  i.  52,  54. 

friend  who  should  be  offended  with  See,  too,  Canon  Ainger's  note,  i.  316. 


198  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

religious  bigotry,  I  did  not  allude  to  your  pamphlet,  but 
to  passages  in  your  letters  to  me,  and  to  a  circumstance 
which  Southey,  I  think,  once  mentioned,  that  you  had  as- 
serted that  the  name  of  God  ought  never  to  be  produced 
in  poetry.1  Which,  to  be  sure,  was  carrying  hatred  to 
your  Creator  very  far  indeed. 

My  dear  Thelwall !  "  It  is  the  principal  felicity  of  life 
and  the  chief  glory  of  manhood  to  speak  out  fully  on  all 
subjects."  I  will  avail  myself  of  it.  I  will  express  all 
I  my  feelings,  but  will  previously  take  care  to  make  my  feel- 
ings benevolent.  Contempt  is  hatred  without  fear ;  an- 
ger, hatred  accompanied  with  apprehension.  But  because 
hatred  is  always  evil,  contempt  must  be  always  evil,  and  a 
good  man  ought  to  speak  contemptuously  of  nothing.  I 
am  sure  a  wise  man  will  not  of  opinions  which  have  been 
held  by  men,  in  other  respects  at  least,  confessed  of  more 
powerful  intellect  than  himself.  'Tis  an  assumption  of 
infallibility ;  for  if  a  man  were  wakefully  mindful  that 
what  he  now  thinks  foolish  he  may  himself  hereafter  think 
wise,  it  is  not  in  nature  that  he  should  despise  those  who 
now  believe  what  it  is  possible  he  may  himself  hereafter 
believe ;  and  if  he  deny  the  possibility  he  must  on  that 
point  deem  himself  infallible  and  immutable.  Now,  in 
your  letter  of  yesterday,  you  speak  with  contempt  of  two 
things :  old  age  and  the  Christian  religion ;  though  reli- 
gion was  believed  by  Newton,  Locke,  and  Hartley,  after 
intense  investigation,  which  in  each  had  been  preceded  by 
unbelief.  This  does  not  prove  its  truth,  but  it  should  save 
its  followers  from  contempt,  even  though  through  the  in- 
firmities of  mortality  they  should  have  lost  their  teeth.  I 
call  that  man  a  bigot,  Thelwall,  whose  intemperate  zeal, 
\  for  or  against  any  opinions,  leads  him  to  contradict  himself 

\  in-  the  space  of  half  a  dozen  lines.     Now  this  you  appear 

\ 

1  " Southey    misrepresented    me.     Love  Sonnets"     MS.  Note  by  John 
My  maxim  was  and  is  that  the  name     Thelwall. 
of  God  should  not  be  introduced  into 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  199 

to  me  to  have  done.  I  will  write  fully  to  you  now,  be- 
cause I  shall  never  renew  the  subject.  I  shall  not  be  idle  \  I 
in  defence  of  the  religion  I  profess,  and  my  books  will  be 
the  place,  not  my  letters.  You  say  the  Christian  is  a  mean 
religion.  Now  the  religion  which  Christ  taught  is  simply, 
first,  that  there  is  an  omnipresent  Father  of  infinite 
power,  wisdom,  and  goodness,  in  whom  we  all  of  us  move 
and  have  our  being ;  and,  secondly,  that  when  we  appear 
to  men  to  die  we  do  not  utterly  perish,  but  after  this  life 
shall  continue  to  enjoy  or  suffer  the  consequences  and  nat- 
ural effects  of  the  habits  we  have  formed  here,  whether 
good  or  evil.  This  is  the  Christian  religion,  and  all  of  > 
the  Christian  religion.  That  there  is  no  fancy  in  it  I V 
readily  grant,  but  that  it  is  mean  and  deficient  in  mind  \ 
and  energy  it  were  impossible  for  me  to  admit,  unless  I 
admitted  that  there  could  be  no  dignity,  intellect,  or  force 
in  anything  but  atheism.  But  though  it  appeal  not  itself 
to  the  fancy,  the  truths  which  it  teaches  admit  the  highest 
exercise  of  it.  Are  the  "  innumerable  multitude  of  angels 
and  archangels  "  less  splendid  beings  than  the  countless 
gods  and  goddesses  of  Rome  and  Greece  ?  And  can  you  - 
seriously  think  that  Mercury  from  Jove  equals  in  poetic 
sublimity  "  the  mighty  angel  that  came  down  from  heaven, 
whose  face  was  as  it  were  the  sun  and  his  feet  as  pillars 
of  fire :  who  set  his  right  foot  on  the  sea,  and  his  left  foot 
on  the  earth.  And  he  sent  forth  a  loud  voice  ;  and  when 
he  had  sent  it  forth,  seven  thunders  uttered  their  voices : 
and  when  the  seven  thunders  had  uttered  their  voices,  the 
mighty  Angel  *  lifted  up  his  hand  to  heaven,  and  sware  by 
Him  that  liveth  for  ever  and  ever  that  Time  was  no  more  "  ? 
Is  not  Milton  a  sublimer  poet  than  Homer  or  Virgil  ?  Are 
not  his  personages  more  sublimely  clothed,  and  do  you  not 
know  that  there  is  not  perhaps  one  page  in  Milton's  Par- 

1  Revelation  x.  1-6.    Some  words     ity,  or  to  heighten  the  dramatic  ef- 
and   sentences   of   the   original   are     feet, 
omitted,  either  for  the  sake  of  brev- 


200  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

adise  Lost  in  which  he  has  not  borrowed  his  imagery  from 
the  Scriptures  ?  I  allow  and  rejoice  that  Christ  appealed 
only  to  the  understanding  and  the  affections ;  but  I  affirm 
that  after  reading  Isaiah,  or  St.  Paul's  "  Epistle  to  the 
Hebrews,"  Homer  and  Virgil  are  disgustingly  tame  to  me, 
and  Milton  himself  barely  tolerable.  You  and  I  are  very 
differently  organized  if  you  think  that  the  following  (put- 
ting serious  belief  out  of  the  question)  is  a  mean  flight  of 
impassioned  eloquence  in  which  the  Apostle  marks  the  dif- 
ference between  the  Mosaic  and  Christian  Dispensation : 
"  For  ye  are  not  come  unto  the  mount  that  might  be 
touched"  (that  is,  a  material  and  earthly  place)  "and 
that  burned  with  fire,  nor  unto  blackness,  and  tempest, 
and  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  and  the  voice  of  words;  which 
voice  they  that  heard  entreated  that  the  word  should  not 
be  spoken  to  them  any  more.  But  ye  are  come  unto 
Mount  Sion,  and  unto  the  city  of  the  living  God,  to  an 
innumerable  company  of  angels,  to  God  the  Judge  of  all, 
and  to  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect."  1  You  may 
prefer  to  all  this  the  quarrels  of  Jupiter  and  Juno,  the 
whimpering  of  wounded  Venus,  and  the  jokes  of  the  celes- 
tials on  the  lameness  of  Vulcan.  Be  it  so  (the  difference 
in  our  tastes  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  account  for  from 
the  different  feelings  which  we  have  associated  with  these 
ideas)  ;  I  shall  continue  with  Milton  to  say  that 

"  Zion  Hill 

Delights  me  more,  and  Siloa's  brook  that  flow'd 
Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God !  " 

"  Visions  fit  for  slobberers !  "  If  infidelity  do  not  lead 
to  sensuality,  which  in  every  case  except  yours  I  have  ob- 
served it  to  do,  it  always  takes  away  all  respect  for  those 
who  become  unpleasant  from  the  infirmities  of  disease  or 
decaying  nature.  Exempli  gratia,  "the  aged  are  slob- 
berers"  2  The  only  vision  which  Christianity  holds  forth 

1  Hebrews  xii.  18,  19,  22,  23.  terval  of  twenty-three  years  I  was 

2  "  In  reading  over  this  after  an  in-     wondering  what  I  could  have  said 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  201 

is  indeed  peculiarly  adapted  to  these  slobberers.  Yes,  to 
these  lowly  and  despised  and  perishing  slobberers  it  pro- 
claims that  their  "  corruptible  shall  put  on  incorruption, 
and  their  mortal  put  on  immortality" 

"Morals  to  the  Magdalen  and  Botany  Bay."  Now, 
Thelwall,  I  presume  that  to  preach  morals  to  the  virtu- 
ous is  not  quite  so  requisite  as  to  preach  them  to  the 
vicious.  "The  sick  need  a  physician."  Are  morals 
which  would  make  a  prostitute  a  wife  and  a  sister, 
which  would  restore  her  to  inward  peace  and  purity  ;  are 
morals  which  would  make  drunkards  sober,  the  ferocious 
benevolent,  and  thieves  honest,  mean  morals?  Is  it  a 
despicable  trait  in  our  religion,  that  its  professed  object 
is  to  heal  the  broken-hearted  and  give  wisdom  to  the 
poor  man  ?  It  preaches  repentance.  What  repentance  ? 
Tears  and  sorrow  and  a  repetition  of  the  same  crimes  ? 
No,  a  "  repentance  unto  good  works ;  "  a  repentance  that 
completely  does  away  all  superstitious  terrors  by  teaching 
that  the  past  is  nothing  in  itself,  that,  if  the  mind  is  good, 
that  it  was  bad  imports  nothing.  "  It  is  a  religion  for 
democrats."  It  certainly  teaches  in  the  most  explicit  terms 
the  rights  of  man,  his  right  to  wisdom,  his  right  to  an  equal 
share  in  all  the  blessings  of  nature  ;  it  commands  its  dis- 
ciples to  go  everywhere,  and  everywhere  to  preach  these 
rights  ;  it  commands  them  never  to  use  the  arm  of  flesh,  to 
be  perfectly  non-resistant ;  yet  to  hold  the  promulgation 
of  truth  to  be  a  law  above  law,  and  in  the  performance  of 
this  office  to  defy  "  wickedness  in  high  places,"  and  cheer- 
fully to  endure  ignominy,  and  wretchedness,  and  torments, 
and  death,  rather  than  intermit  the  performance  of  it ;  yet, 
while  enduring  ignominy,  and  wretchedness,  and  torments, 
and  death,  to  feel  nothing  but  sorrow,  and  pity,  and  love 

that  looked  like  contempt  of  age.  ill  guide  in  matters  of  understanding 

May  not  slobberers  have  referred  not  and  consequently  of  faith?"     MS. 

to  age  but  to  the  drivelling  of  de-  Note  by  John  Thelwall,  1819.  v      - 
cayed  intellect,  which  is  surely  an 


202  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [DEC. 

for  those  who  inflicted  them ;  wishing  their  oppressors  to 
be  altogether  such  as  they,  "  excepting  these  bonds." 
Here  is  truth  in  theory  and  in  practice,  a  union  of  energetic 
action  and  more  energetic  suffering.  For  activity  amuses  ; 
but  he  who  can  endure  calmly  must  possess  the  seeds  of 
true  greatness.  For  all  his  animal  spirits  will  of  necessity 
fail  him ;  and  he  has  only  his  mind  to  trust  to.  These 
doubtless  are  morals  for  all  the  lovers  of  mankind,  who 
wish  to  act  as  well  as  speculate;  and  that  you  should 
allow  this,  and  yet,  not  three  lines  before  call  the  same 
morals  mean,  appears  to  me  a  gross  self-contradiction 
symptomatic  of  bigotry.  I  write  freely,  Thelwall ;  for, 
though  personally  unknown,  I  really  love  you,  and  can 
count  but  few  human  beings  whose  hand  I  would  welcome 
with  a  more  hearty  grasp  of  friendship.  I  suspect,  Thel- 
wall, that  you  never  read  your  Testament,  since  your  un- 
derstanding was  matured,  without  carelessness,  and  previ- 
ous contempt,  and  a  somewhat  like  hatred.  Christianity 
regards  morality  as  a  process.  It  finds  a  man  vicious  and 
unsusceptible  of  noble  motives  and  gradually  leads  him,  at 
least  desires  to  lead  him,  to  the  height  of  disinterested 
virtue ;  till,  in  relation  and  proportion  to  his  faculties  and 
power,  he  is  perfect  "  even  as  our  Father  in  heaven  is 
perfect."  There  is  no  resting-place  for  morality.  Now  I 
will  make  one  other  appeal,  and  have  done  forever  with 
the  subject.  There  is  a  passage  in  Scripture  which  com- 
prises the  whole  process,  and  each  component  part,  of 
Christian  morals.  Previously  let  me  explain  the  word 
faith.  By  faith  I  understand,  first,  a  deduction  from 
experiments  in  favour  of  the  existence  of  something  not 
experienced,  and,  secondly,  the  motives  which  attend  such 
a  deduction.  Now  motives,  being  selfish,  are  only  the 
beginning  and  the  foundation,  necessary  and  of  first-rate 
importance,  yet  made  of  vile  materials,  and  hidden  be- 
neath the  splendid  superstructure. 

"  Now  giving  all  diligence,  add  to  your  faith  fortitude, 


1796] 


TO  JOHN  THELWALL 


203 


and  to  fortitude  knowledge,  and  to  knowledge  purity,  and 
to  purity  patience,1  and  to  patience  godliness,2    and   to 


1  Patience  —  permit  me  as  a  defi- 
nition of  the  word  to  quote  one  sen- 
tence from  my  first  Address,  p.  20. 
"Accustomed  to  regard  all  the  af- 
fairs  of    man   as    a    process,   they 
never  hurry  and  they  never  pause." 
In  his  not  possessing  this  virtue,  all 
the  horrible  excesses  of  Robespierre 
did,  I  believe,  originate.  —  MS.  note 
to  text  of  letter  by  S.  T.  Coleridge. 

2  Godliness  —  the  belief,  the  ha- 
bitual and  efficient  belief,  that  we  are 
always  in  the  presence  of  our  uni- 
versal Parent.    I  will  translate  liter- 
ally a  passage  [the  passage  is  from 
Voss's  Luise.     I  am  enabled  by  the 
courtesy  of  Dr.  Garnett,  of  the  Brit- 
ish Museum,  to  give  an  exact  refer- 
ence :   Luise,   ein  Idndliches  Gedicht 
in  drei  Idyllen,  von  Johann  Hein- 
rich    Voss,    Konigsberg,   MDCCXCV. 
Erste  Idylle,  pp.  41-45,  lines  303- 
339.  —  E.  H.  C.]    from  a  German 
hexameter  poem.     It  is  the  speech 
of  a  country  clergyman  on  the  birth- 
day of  his  daughter.   The  latter  part 
fully  expresses  the  spirit  of  godli- 
ness, and  its   connection  with  bro- 
therly-kindness. (Pardon  the  harsh- 
ness of  the  language,  for  it  is  trans- 
lated totidem  verbis.) 

"  Yes !  my  beloved  daughter,  I 
am  cheerful,  cheerful  as  the  birds 
singing  in  the  wood  here,  or  the 
squirrel  that  hops  among  the  airy 
branches  around  its  young  in  their 
nest.  To-day  it  is  eighteen  years 
since  God  gave  me  my  beloved,  now 
my  only  child,  so  intelligent,  so 
pious,  and  so  dutiful.  How  the 
time  flies  away  !  Eighteen  years  to 
come  —  how  far  the  space  extends 
itself  before  us !  and  how  does  it 
vanish  when  we  look  back  upon 


it !  It  was  but  yesterday,  it  seems 
to  me,  that  as  I  was  plucking  flow- 
ers here,  and  offering  praise,  on  a 
sudden  the  joyful  message  came, 
'  A  daughter  is  born  to  us.'  Much 
since  that  time  has  the  Almighty 
imparted  to  us  of  good  and  evil. 
But  the  evil  itself  was  good ;  for 
his  loving-kindness  is  infinite.  Do 
you  recollect  [to  his  wife]  as  it  once 
had  rained  after  a  long  drought,  and 
I  (Louisa  in  my  arms)  was  walking 
with  thee  in  the  freshness  of  the 
garden,  how  the  child  snatched  at 
the  rainbow,  and  kissed  me,  and 
said  :  '  Papa  !  there  it  rains  flowers 
from  heaven !  Does  the  blessed 
God  strew  these  that  we  children 
may  gather  them  up  ?  '  '  Yes  !  '  I 
answered,  '  full-blowing  and  heav- 
enly blessings  does  the  Father  strew 
who  stretched  out  the  bow  of  his 
favour ;  flowers  and  fruits  that  we 
may  gather  them  with  thankfulness 
and  joy.  Whenever  I  think  of  that 
great  Father  then  my  heart  lifts  itself 
up  and  swells  with  active  impulse  to- 
wards all  his  children,  our  brothers 
who  inhabit  the  earth  around  us ;  dif- 
fering indeed  from  one  another  in 
powers  and  understanding,  yet  all 
dear  children  of  the  same  parent,  nour- 
ished by  the  same  Spirit  of  animation, 
and  ere  long  to  fall  asleep,  and  again 
to  wake  in  the  common  morning  of  the 
Resurrection ;  all  who  have  loved  their 
fellow-creatures,  all  shall  rejoice  with 
Peter,  and  Moses,  and  Confucius,  and 
Homer,  and  Zoroaster,  with  Socrates 
who  died  for  truth,  and  also  with  the 
noble  Mendelssohn  who  teaches  that  the 
divine  one  was  never  crucified.''  " 

Mendelssohn  is  a  German  Jew  by 
parentage,   and    deist    by   election. 


204  EARLY  PUBLIC   LIFE  [DEC. 

godliness   brotherly-kindness,  and   to   brotherly-kindness 
universal  love."  *" 

I  hope,  whatever  you  may  think  of  godliness,  you  will 
like  the  note  on  it.  I  need  not  tell  you,  that  godliness  is 
God-likeness,  and  is  paraphrased  by  Peter  "  that  ye  may 
be  partakers  of  the  divine  nature,"  that  is,  act  from  a 
love  of  order  and  happiness,  not  from  any  self-respecting 
motive ;  from  the  excellency  into  which  you  have  exalted 
your  nature,  not  from  the  keenness  of  mere  prudence. 
"  Add  to  your  faith  fortitude,  and  to  fortitude  knowledge, 
and  to  knowledge  purity,  and  to  purity  patience,  and  to 
patience  godliness,  and  to  godliness  brotherly-kindness, 
and  to  brotherly-kindness  universal  love."  Now,  Thel- 
wall,  putting  faith  out  of  the  question  (which,  by  the 
bye,  is  not  mentioned  as  a  virtue,  but  as  the  leader  to 
them),  can  you  mention  a  virtue  which  is  not  here  en- 
joined? and  supposing  the  precepts  embodied  in  the 
practice  of  any  one  human  being,  would  not  perfection  be 
personified  ?  I  write  these  things  not  with  any  expecta- 
tion of  making  you  a  Christian.  I  should  smile  at  my 
own  folly,  if  I  conceived  it  even  in  a  friendly  day-dream. 

"The  ardour  of  undisciplined  benevolence  seduces  us 
into  malignity,"  and,  while  you  accustom  yourself  to 
speak  so  contemptuously  of  doctrines  you  do  not  accede 
to,  and  persons  with  whom  you  do  not  accord,  I  must 
doubt  whether  even  your  brotherly-kindness  might  not  be 
made  more  perfect.  That  is  surely  fit  for  a  man  which 
his  mind  after  sincere  examination  approves,  which  ani- 
mates his  conduct,  soothes  his  sorrows,  and  heightens  his 
pleasures.  Every  good  and  earnest  Christian  declares 
that  all  this  is  true  of  the  visions  (as  you  please  to  style 

He  has  written  some  of  the  most  most  unintelligible  Immanuel  Kant, 

acute  books  possible   in  favour  of  —  MS.  note  to  text  of  letter  by  S.  T. 

natural  immortality,  and  Germany  Coleridge, 
deems  him  her  profoundest  meta-         1  2  Peter  i.  5-7. 
physician,  with  the  exception  of  the 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  205 

them,  God  knows  why)  of  Christianity.  Every  earnest 
Christian,  therefore,  is  on  a  level  with  slobberers.  Do  not 
charge  me  with  dwelling  on  one  expression.  These  ex- 
pressions are  always  indicative  of  the  habit  of  feeling. 
You  possess  fortitude  and  purity,  and  a  large  portion  of 
brotherly-kindness  and  universal  love ;  drink  with  un- 
quenchable thirst  of  the  two  latter  virtues,  and  acquire 
patience ;  and  then,  Thelwall,  should  your  system  be 
true,  all  that  can  be  said  is  that  (if  both  our  systems 
should  be  found  to  increase  our  own  and  our  fellow-crea- 
tures' happiness),  "  Here  lie  and  did  lie  the  all  of  John 
Thelwall  and  S.  T.  Coleridge.  They  were  both  humane, 
and  happy,  but  the  former  was  the  more  knowing  ; "  and 
if  my  system  should  prove  true,  we,  I  doubt  not,  shall 
both  meet  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and  I,  with  trans- 
port in  my  eye,  shall  say,  "  I  told  you  so,  my  dear  fellow." 
But  seriously,  the  faulty  habit  of  feeling,  which  I  have 
endeavoured  to  point  out  in  you,  I  have  detected  in  at 
least  as  great  degree  in  my  own  practice,  and  am  strug- 
gling to  subdue  it.  I  rejoice  that  the  bankrupt  honesty 
of  the  public  has  paid  even  the  small  dividend  you  men- 
tioned. As  to  your  second  part,  I  will  write  you  about 
it  in  a  day  or  two,  when  I  give  you  an  account  how  I 
have  disposed  of  your  first.  My  dear  little  baby !  and 
my  wife  thinks  that  he  already  begins  to  flutter  the 
callow  wings  of  his  intellect.  Oh,  the  wise  heart  and 
foolish  head  of  a  mother  !  Kiss  your  little  girl  for  me, 
and  tell  her  if  I  knew  her  I  would  love  her ;  and  then  I 
hope  in  your  next  letter  you  will  convey  her  love  to  me 
and  my  Sara.  Your  dear  boy,  I  trust,  will  return  with 
rosy  cheeks.  Don't  you  suspect,  Thelwall,  that  the  little 
atheist  Madam  Stella  has  an  abominable  Christian  kind 
of  heart  ?  My  Sara  is  much  interested  about  her  ;  and  I 
should  not  wonder  if  they  were  to  be  sworn  sister-seraphs 
in  the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  Give  my  love  to  her. 

I  have  sent  you  some  loose  sheets  which  Charles  Lloyd 


206 


EARLY   PUBLIC   LIFE 


[DEC. 


and  I  printed  together,  intending  to  make  a  volume,  but 
I  gave  it  up  and  cancelled  them.1  Item,  Joan  of  Arc, 
with  only  the  passage  of  my  writing  cut  out  for  the  print- 
ers, as  I  am  printing  it  in  my  second  edition,  with  very 
great  alterations  and  an  addition  of  four  hundred  lines,  so 
as  to  make  it  a  complete  and  independent  poem,  entitled, 
"  The  Progress  of  Liberty,"  or  "  The  Visions  of  the  Maid 
of  Orleans."  Item,  a  sheet  of  sonnets  2  collected  by  me  for 
the  use  of  a  few  friends,  who  paid  the  printing.  There 
you  will  see  my  opinion  of  sonnets.  Item,  Poem  by  C. 
Lloyd3  on  the  death  of  one  of  your  "  slobberers,"  a  very 
venerable  old  lady,  and  a  Quaker.  The  book  is  dressed 
like  a  rich  Quaker,  in  costly  raiment  but  unornamented. 
The  loss  of  her  almost  killed  my  poor  young  friend ;  for 
he  doted  on  her  from  his  infancy.  Item,  a  poem  of 
mine  on  Burns  4  which  was  printed  to  be  dispersed  among 


1  They  were  criticised  by  Lamb 
in  his  letter  to  Coleridge  Dec.  10, 
1796  (xxxi.  of  Canon  Ainger's  edi- 
tion), but  in  a  passage  first  printed 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  February, 
1891.     The  explanatory  notes  there 
printed  were  founded  on  a  miscon- 
ception, but  the  matter  is  cleared  up 
in  the  Athenaeum  for  June  13,  1891, 
in  the  article,  "  A  Letter  of  Charles 
Lamb." 

2  The  reference  is  to  a  pamphlet 
of  sixteen  pages  containing  twenty- 
eight  sonnets  by  Coleridge,  Southey, 
Lloyd,  Lamb,  and  others,  which  was 
printed  for   private    circulation  to- 
wards the  close  of  1796,  and  distrib- 
uted among  a  few  friends.     Of  this 
selection  of  sonnets,  which  was  made 
"  for  the  purpose  of  binding  them  up 
with  the  sonnets  of  the  Rev.  W.  L. 
Bowles,"  the  sole  surviving  copy  is 
now  in  the  Dyce  Collection  of  the 
South  Kensington  Museum.    On  the 
fly-leaf,  in  Coleridge's  handwriting, 


is  a  "  presentation  note "  to  Mrs. 
Thelwall.  For  a  full  account  of  this 
curious  and  interesting  volume,  see 
Coleridge's  Poetical  and  Dramatic 
Works,  4  vols.,  1877-1880,  ii.  377- 
379;  also,  Poetical  Works  (1893), 
542-544. 

8  A  folio  edition  of  "  Poems  on 
the  Death  of  Priscilla  Farmer,  by 
her  grandson  Charles  Lloyd,"  was 
printed  at  Bristol  in  1796.  The  vol- 
ume was  prefaced  by  Coleridge's  son- 
net, "  The  piteous  sobs  which  choke 
the  virgin's  breast,"  and  contained 
Lamb's  "  Grandame."  As  Mr.  Dykes 
Campbell  has  pointed  out,  it  is  to 
this  "  magnificent  folio  "  that  Charles 
Lamb  alludes  in  his  letter  of  Decem- 
ber 10, 1796  (incorrectly  dated  1797), 
when  he  speaks  of  "  my  granny  so 
gaily  decked,"  and  records  "  the  odd 
coincidence  of  two  young  men  in  one 
age  carolling  their  grandmothers." 
Poetical  Works,  note  99,  p.  583. 

4  "  To  a  friend  (C.  Lamb)  who  had 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  207 

friends.  It  was  addressed  to  Charles  Lamb.  Item, 
(Shall  I  give  it  thee,  blasphemer  ?  No  !  I  won't,  but)  to 
thy  Stella  I  do  present  the  poems  of  my  youth  for  a  keep- 
sake. Of  this  parcel  I  do  entreat  thy  acceptance.  I  have 
another  Joan  of  Arc,  so  you  have  a  right  to  the  one  en- 
closed. Postscript.  Item,  a  humorous  "  Droll "  on  S.  Ire- 
land, of  which  I  have  likewise  another.  Item,  a  strange 
poem  written  by  an  astrologer  here,  who  was  a  man  of 
fine  genius,  which,  at  intervals,  he  still  discovers.  But, 
ah  me  !  Madness  smote  with  her  hand  and  stamped  with 
her  feet  and  swore  that  he  should  be  hers,  and  hers  he  is. 
He  is  a  man  of  fluent  eloquence  and  general  knowledge, 
gentle  in  his  manners,  warm  in  his  affections ;  but  unfor- 
tunately he  has  received  a  few  rays  of  supernatural  light 
through  a  crack  in  his  upper  story.  I  express  myself  un-, 
feelingly  ;  but  indeed  my  heart  always  aches  when  I  think 
of  him.  Item,  some  verses  of  Robert  Southey  to  a  col- 
lege cat.1  And,  finally,  the  following  lines  by  thy  affec- 
tionate friend, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

TO   A  YOUNG  MAN 

WHO    ABANDONED    HIMSELF    TO   A   CAUSELESS   AND    INDOLENT   MEL- 
ANCHOLY.2 

Hence  that  fantastic  wantonness  of  woe, 
0  youth  to  partial  Fortune  vainly  dear ! 

To  plunder'd  Want's  half-sheltered  hovel  go, 
Go,  and  some  hunger-bitten  infant  hear 
Moan  haply  in  a  dying  mother's  ear. 

declared  his  intention  of  writing  no  causeless    melancholy,"  may    have 

more  poetry."     Poetical   Works,   p.  been  addressed  to  Charles  Lloyd. 

69.     See,  too,  Editor's  Note,  p.  583.  The   last   line,    "  A   prey   to   the 

1  Printed  in  the  Annual  Anthology  throned  murderess  of  mankind,"  was 
for  1799.  afterwards  changed  to  "  A  prey  to 

2  These  lines,  which   were   pub-  tyrants,    murderers    of    mankind." 
lished  with  the  enlarged  title  "  To  The  reference  is,  doubtless,  to  Cath- 
a  Young  Man  of  Fortune  who  had  erine   of    Russia.      Her   death   had 
abandoned  himself  to  an  indolent  and  taken  place  a  month  before  the  date 


208  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

Or  seek  some  ividow's  grave  ;  whose  dearer  part 

Was  slaughtered,  where  o'er  his  uncoffin'd  limbs 
The  flocking  flesh-birds  scream'd !     Then,  while  thy  heart 

Groans,  and  thine  eyes  a  fiercer  sorrow  dims, 
Know  (and  the  truth  shall  kindle  thy  young  mind), 

What  Nature  makes  thee  mourn  she  bids  thee  heal. 
O  abject !  if,  to  sickly  dreams  resign'd, 

All  effortless  thou  leave  Earth's  common  weal 
A  prey  to  the  thron'd  Murderess  of  Mankind ! 

After  the  first  five  lines  these  two  followed :  — 

Or  when  the  cold  and  dismal  fog-damps  brood 

O'er  the  rank  church-yard  with  sere  elm-leaves  strew'd, 

Pace  round  some  widow's  grave,  etc. 

These  they  rightly  omitted.     I  love  sonnets ;  but  upon 
my  honour  I  do  not  love  my  sonnets. 

N.  B.  — Direct  your  letters,  S.  T.  Coleridge,  Mr.  Cot- 
tie's,  High  Street,  Bristol. 

LXIX.    TO  THOMAS  POOLE. 

Sunday  morning  [?  December  18,  1796.] 

MY  DEAR  POOLE,  —  I  wrote  to  you  with  improper  im- 
petuosity ;  but  I  had  been  dwelling  so  long  on  the  circum- 
stance of  living  near  you,  that  my  mind  was  thrown  by 
your  letter  into  the  feelings  of  those  distressful  dreams  1 
where  we  imagine  ourselves  falling  from  precipices.  I 

of  this  letter,  but  possibly  when  Cole-  1  Compare  the  line,  "  From  preci- 
ridge  wrote  the  lines  the  news  had  pices  of  distressful  sleep,"  which  oc- 
not  reached  England.  It  is  not  a  curs  in  the  sonnet,  "No  more  my 
little  strange  that  Coleridge  should  visionary  soul  shall  dwell,"  which  is 
write  and  print  so  stern  and  uncom-  attributed  to  Favell  in  a  letter  of  Sou- 
promising  a  rebuke  to  his  intimate  they's  to  his  brother  Thomas,  dated 
and  disciple  before  there  had  been  October  24, 1795.  Southey'sizyeancf 
time  for  coolness  and  alienation  on  Correspondence,  i.  224.  See,  also,  Ed- 
either  side.  Very  possibly  the  re-  itor's  Note  to  "  Monody  on  the  Death 
proof  was  aimed  in  the  first  instance  of  Chatterton,' '  Poetical  Works,  p. 
against  himself,  and  afterwards  he  563. 
permitted  it  to  apply  to  Lloyd. 


1796]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  209 

seemed  falling  from  the  summit  of  my  fondest  desires, 
whirled  from  the  height  just  as  I  had  reached  it. 

We  shall  want  none  of  the  Woman's  furniture ;  we 
have  enough  for  ourselves.  What  with  boxes  of  books, 
and  chests  of  drawers,  and  kitchen  furniture,  and  chairs, 
and  our  bed  and  bed-linen,  etc.,  we  shall  have  enough  to 
fill  a  small  waggon,  and  to-day  I  shall  make  enquiry  among 
my  trading  acquaintance,  whether  it  would  be  cheaper  to 
hire  a  waggon  to  take  them  straight  to  Stowey,  than  to 
put  them  in  the  Bridgwater  waggon.  Taking  in  the 
double  trouble  and  expense  of  putting  them  in  the  drays 
to  carry  them  to  the  public  waggon,  and  then  seeing  them 
packed  again,  and  again  to  be  unpacked  and  packed  at 
Bridgwater,  I  much  question  whether  our  goods  would 
be  good  for  anything.  I  am  very  poorly,  not  to  say  ill. 
My  face  monstrously  swollen  —  my  recondite  eye  sits 
distent  quaintly,  behind  the  flesh-hill,  and  looks  as  little  as 
a  tomtit's.  And  I  have  a  sore  throat  that  prevents  my 
eating  aught  but  spoon-meat  without  great  pain.  And  I 
have  a  rheumatic  complaint  in  the  back  part  of  my  head 
and  shoulders.  Now  all  this  demands  a  small  portion  of 
Christian  patience,  taking  in  our  present  circumstances. 
My  apothecary  says  it  will  be  madness  for  me  to  walk  to 
Stowey  on  Tuesday,  as,  in  the  furious  zeal  of  a  new  con- 
vert to  economy,  I  had  resolved  to  do.  My  wife  will  stay 
a  week  or  fortnight  after  me  ;  I  think  it  not  improbable 
that  the  weather  may  break  up  by  that  time.  However, 
if  I  do  not  get  worse,  I  will  be  with  you  by  Wednesday 
or  Thursday  at  the  furthest,  so  as  to  be  there  before  the 
waggon.  Is  there  any  grate  in  the  house  ?  I  should 
think  we  might  Rumfordize  one  of  the  chimneys.  I  shall 
bring  down  with  me  a  dozen  yards  of  green  list.  I  can 
endure  cold,  but  not  a  cold  room.  If  we  can  but  con- 
trive to  make  two  rooms  warm  and  wholesome,  we  will 
laugh  in  the  faces  of  gloom  and  ill-lookingness. 

I  shall  lose  the  post  if  I  say  a  word  more.     You  thor- 


210  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [DEC. 

oughly  and  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  your  heart  forgive 
me  for  my  letters  ?  Indeed,  indeed,  Poole,  I  know  no 
one  whom  I  esteem  more  —  no  one  friend  whom  I  love  so 
much.  But  bear  with  my  infirmities!  God  bless  you, 
and  your  grateful  and  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LXX.   TO   JOHN   THELWALL. 

December  31,  1796. 

Enough,  my  dear  Thelwall,  of  theology.  In  my  book  on 
Godwin,  I  compare  the  two  systems,  his  and  Jesus',  and 
that  book  I  am  sure  you  will  read  with  attention.  I  entirely 
accord  with  your  opinion  of  Southey's  "  Joan."  The  ninth 
book  is  execrable,  and  the  poem,  though  it  frequently  reach 
the  sentimental,  does  not  display  the  poetical-sublime. 
!>  In  language  at  once  natural,  perspicuous,  and  dignified 
in  manly  pathos,  in  soothing  and  sonnet-like  description, 
and,  above  all,  in  character  and  dramatic  dialogue, 
Southey  is  unrivalled ;  but  as  certainly  he  does  not  pos- 
'  sess  opulence  of  imaginative  lofty-paced  harmony,  or  that 
toil  of  thinking  which  is  necessary  in  order  to  plan  a 
whole.  Dismissing  mock  humility,  and  hanging  your 
mind  as  a  looking-glass  over  my  idea-pot,  so  as  to  image 
on  the  said  mind  all  the  bubbles  that  boil  in  the  said  idea- 
pot  (there  's  a  damned  long-winded  metaphor  for  you),  I 
!  think  that  an  admirable  poet  might  be  made  by  amalga- 
]  mating  Mm  and  me.  I  think  too  much  for  a  poet,  he  too 
j  little  for  a  great  poet.  But  he  abjures  feeling.  Now  (as 
you  say)  they  must  go  together.  Between  ourselves  the 
enthusiasm,  of  friendship  is  not  with  S.  and  me.  We 
quarrelled  and  the  quarrel  lasted  for  a  twelvemonth.  We 
are  now  reconciled ;  but  the  cause  of  the  difference  was 
solemn,  and  "  the  blasted  oak  puts  not  forth  its  buds 
anew."  We  are  acquaintances,  and  feel  kindliness  to- 
wards each  other,  but  I  do  not  esteem  or  love  Southey, 
as  I  must  esteem  and  love  the  man  whom  I  dared  call  by 


1796]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL.  211 

the  holy  name  of  friend :  and  vice  versa  Southey  of  me. 
I  say  no  more.  It  is  a  painful  subject,  and  do  you  say 
nothing.  I  mention  this  for  obvious  reasons,  but  let  it 
go  no  farther.  It  is  a  painful  subject.  Southey's  direc- 
tion at  present  is  R.  Southey,  No.  8  West-gate  Buildings, 
Bath,  but  he  leaves  Bath  for  London  in  the  course  of  a 
week.  You  imagine  that  I  know  Bowles  personally.  I 
never  saw  him  but  once,  and  when  I  was  a  boy  and  in 
Salisbury  market-place. 

The  passage  in  your  letter  respecting  your  mother 
affected  me  greatly.  Well,  true  or  false,  heaven  is  a  less 
gloomy  idea  than  annihilation.  Dr.  Beddoes  and  Dr. 
Darwin  think  that  Life  is  utterly  inexplicable,  writing  as 
materialists.  You,  I  understand,  have  adopted  the  idea 
that  it  is  the  result  of  organised  matter  acted  on  by  ex- 
ternal stimuli.  As  likely  as  any  other  system,  but  you 
assume  the  thing  to  be  proved.  The  "  capability  of  being 
stimulated  into  sensation "...  is  my  definition  of 
\j  animal  life.  Monro  believes  in  a  plastic,  immaterial 
nature,  all-pervading. , 

And  what  if  all  of  animated  nature 
Be  but  organic  harps  diversely  framed, 
That  tremble  into  thought,  as  o'er  them  sweeps 
Plastic  and  vast,  etc. 

(By  the  bye,  that  is  the  favourite  of  my  poems ;  do  you 
like  it  ?)  Hunter  says  that  the  blood  is  the  life,  which  is 
saying  nothing  at  all ;  for,  if  the  blood  were  life,  it  could 
never  be  otherwise  than  life,  and  to  say  it  is  alive  is 
saying  nothing ;  and  Ferriar  believes  in  a  soul,  like  an 
orthodox  churchman.  So  much  for  physicians  and  sur- 
geons !  Now  as  to  the  metaphysicians.  Plato  says  it  is 
harmony.  He  might  as  well  have  said  a  fiddlestick's  end ; 
but  I  love  Plato,  his  dear,  gorgeous  nonsense ;  and  I, 
J  though  last  not  least,  /do  not  know  what- to  think  about 
it.  On  the  whole,  I  have  rather  made  up  my  mind  that  I 


212  EARLY  PUBLIC  LIFE  [JAX. 

am  a  mere  apparition,  a  naked  spirit,  and  that  life  is, 
I  myself  I ;  which  is  a  mighty  clear  account  of  it.  Now  I 
have  written  all  this,  not  to  express  my  ignorance  (that  is 
an  accidental  effect,  not  the  final  cause),  but  to  shew  you 
that  I  want  to  see  your  essay  on  "  Animal  Vitality,"  of 
which  Bowles  the  surgeon  spoke  in  high  terms.  Yet  he 
believes  in  a  body  and  a  soul.  Any  book  may  be  left  at 
Robinson's  for  me,  "  to  be  put  into  the  next  parcel,  to  be 
sent  to  '  Joseph  Cottle,  bookseller,  Bristol.'  "  Have  you 
received  an  "  Ode  " l  of  mine  from  Parsons  ?  In  your 
next  letter  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the  scattered  poems 
I  sent  you.  Send  me  any  poems,  and  I  will  be  minute  in 
criticism..  For,  O  Thelwall,  even  a  long-winded  abuse  is 
more  consolatory  to  an  author's  feelings  than  a  short- 
breathed,  asthma  -  lunged  panegyric.  Joking  apart,  I 
would  to  God  we  could  sit  by  a  fireside  and  joke  viva 
voce,  face  to  face  —  Stella  and  Sara,  Jack  Thelwall  and 
I.  As  I  once  wrote  to  my  dear  friend,  T.  Poole,  "  re- 
peating — , 

'  Such  verse  as  Bowles,  heart-honour'd  poet,  sang, 
That  wakes  the  Tear,  yet  steals  away  the  Pang, 
Then,  or  with  Berkeley  or  with  Hobbes  romance  it, 
Dissecting  Truth  with  metaphysic  lancet. 
Or,  drawn  from  up  those  dark  unfathom'd  wells, 
In  wiser  folly  clink  the  Cap  and  Bells. 
How  many  tales  we  told  !  what  jokes  we  made  ! 
Conundrum,  Crambo,  Rebus,  or  Charade  ; 
.ZEnigmas  that  had  driven  the  Theban  2  mad, 
And  Puns,  then  best  when  exquisitely  bad ; 
And  I,  if  aught  of  archer  vein  I  hit 
With  my  own  laughter  stifled  my  own  wit.'  "  8 

1  The  Ode  on  the  Departing  Tear.        8  Poetical  Works,  p.  459. 

2  (Edipus. 


CHAPTEK  III 

THE  STOWEY   PERIOD 
1797-1798 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   STOWEY  PERIOD 

1797-1798 

LXXI.    TO  REV.  J.  P.  ESTLIN. 

[STOWEY,  1797.] 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  was  indeed  greatly  rejoiced  at 
the  first  sight  of  a  letter  from  you  ;  but  its  contents  were 
painful.  Dear,  dear  Mrs.  Estlin  !  Sara  burst  into  an 
agony  of  tears  that  she  had  been  so  ill.  Indeed,  indeed, 
we  hover  about  her,  and  think  and  talk  of  her,  with 
many  an  interjection  of  prayer.  I  do  not  wonder  that 
you  have  acquired  a  distaste  to  London  —  your  associa- 
tions must  be  painful  indeed.  But  God  be  praised  !  you 
shall  look  back  on  those  sufferings  as  the  vexations  of  a 
dream !  Our  friend,  T.  Poole,  particularly  requests  me 
to  mention  how  deeply  he  condoles  with  you  in  Mrs.  Est- 
lin's  illness,  how  fervently  he  thanks  God  for  her  recov- 
ery. I  assure  you  he  was  extremely  affected.  We  are 
all  remarkably  well,  and  the  child  grows  fat  and  strong. 
Our  house  is  better  than  we  expected  —  there  is  a  com- 
fortable bedroom  and  sitting-room  for  C.  Lloyd,  and 
another  for  us,  a  room  for  Nanny,  a  kitchen,  and  out- 
house. Before  our  door  a  clear  brook  runs  of  very  soft 
water ;  and  in  the  back  yard  is  a  nice  well  of  fine  spring 
water.  We  have  a  very  pretty  garden,  and  large  enough 
to  find  us  vegetables  and  employment,  and  I  am  already 
an  expert  gardener,  and  both  my  hands  can  exhibit  a  cal- 
lum  as  testimonials  of  their  industry.  We  have  like- 
wise a  sweet  orchard,  and  at  the  end  of  it  T.  Poole  has 


214  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [FEB. 

made  a  gate,  which  leads  into  his  garden,  and  from 
thence  either  through  the  tan  yard  into  his  house,  or  else 
through  his  orchard  over  a  fine  meadow  into  the  garden 
of  a  Mrs.  Cruikshank,  an  old  acquaintance,  who  married 
on  the  same  day  as  I,  and  has  got  a  little  girl  a  little 
younger  than  David  Hartley.  Mrs.  Cruikshank  is  a 
sweet  little  woman,  of  the  same  size  as  my  Sara,  and  they 
are  extremely  cordial.  T.  Poole's  mother  behaves  to  MS 
as  a  kind  and  tender  mother.  She  is  very  fond  indeed  of 
my  wife,  so  that,  you  see,  I  ought  to  be  happy,  and,  thank 
God,  I  am  so.  ... 

LXXII.    TO   JOHN   THELWALL. 

STOWEY  NEAR  BRIDGE  WATER,  SOMERSET. 
February  6,  1797. 

I  thank  you,  my  dear  Thelwall,  for  the  parcel,  and 
your  letters.  Of  the  contents  I  shall  speak  in  the  order 
of  their  importance.  First,  then,  of  your  scheme  of  a 
school,  I  approve  it ;  and  fervently  wish,  that  you  may 
find  it  more  easy  of  accomplishment  than  my  fears  sug- 
gest. But  try,  by  all  means,  try.  Have  hopes  without 
expectations  to  hazard  disappointment.  Most  of  our 
patriots  are  tavern  and  parlour  patriots,  that  will  not 
avow  their  principles  by  any  decisive  action  ;  and  of  the 
few  who  would  wish  to  do  so,  the  larger  part  are  unable, 
from  their  children's  expectancies  on  rich  relations,  etc., 
'.etc.  May  these  remain  enough  for  your  Stella  to  employ 
herself  on !  Try,  by  all  means,  try.  For  your  comfort, 
for  your  progressiveness  in  literary  excellence,  in  the 
name  of  everything  that  is  happy,  and  in  the  name  of 
everything  that  is  miserable,  I  would  have  you  do  any- 
thing honest  rather  than  lean  with  the  whole  weight  of 
you*r  necessities  on  the  Press.  Get  bread  and  cheese, 
clothing  and  housing  independently  of  it ;  and  you  may 
then  safely  trust  to  it  for  beef  and  strong  beer.  You 
will  find  a  country  life  a  happy  one  ;  and  you  might  live 


1797]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  215 

comfortably  with  an  hundred  a  year.  Fifty  pounds  you 
might,  I  doubt  not,  gain  by  reviewing  and  furnishing 
miscellanies  for  the  different  magazines ;  you  might  safely 
speculate  on  twenty  pounds  a  year  or  more  from  your  com- 
positions published  separately  —  50 -(-20  =  .£70  ;  and  by 
severe  economy,  a  little  garden  labour,  and  a  pigstye,  this 
would  do.  And,  if  the  education  scheme  did  not  succeed, 
and  I  could  get  engaged  by  any  one  of  the  Reviews  and 
the  new  "  Monthly  Magazine,"  I  would  try  it,  and  begin 
to  farm  by  little  and  slow  degrees.  You  perceive  that  by 
the  Press  I  mean  merely  writing  without  a  certainty. 
The  other  is  as  secure  as  anything  else  could  be  to  you. 
With  health  and  spirits  it  would  stand ;  and  without 
health  and  spirits  every  other  mode  of  maintenance,  as 
well  as  reviewing,  would  be  impracticable.  You  are  going 
to  Derby !  I  shall  be  with  you  in  spirit.  Derby  is  no 
common  place ;  but  where  you  will  find  citizens  enough 
to  fill  your  lecture-room  puzzles  me.  Dr.  Darwin  will  no 
doubt  excite  your  respectful  curiosity.  On  the  whole,  I 
think,  he  is  the  first  literary  character  in  Europe,  and  the 
most  original-minded  man.  Mrs.  Crompton  is  an  angel ; 
and  Dr.  Crompton  a  truly  honest  and  benevolent  man, 
possessing  good  sense  and  a  large  portion  of  humour.  I 
never  think  of  him  without  respect  and  tenderness ;  never 
(for,  thank  Heaven  !  I  abominate  Godwinism)  without 
gratitude.  William  Strutt  *  is  a  man  of  stern  aspect,  but 

1  William  and  Joseph  Strutt  were  was  actually  made,  but  the  relations 

the   sons    of    Jedediah    Strutt,    of  on  both  sides  intervened,   and  she 

Derby.     The  eldest,  William,   was  was  reluctantly  compelled  to  with- 

the   father   of   Edward  Strutt,  ere-  draw  her  proposal.     By  way  of  con- 

ated  Lord   Belper  in  1856.     Their  solation,  she  entertained  Coleridge 

sister,  Elizabeth,  who  had  married  and  his  wife  at  Darley  Hall,  and  be- 

William  Evans  of  Darley  Hall,  was  fore  he  left  presented  him  with  a 

at  this  time  a  widow.     She  had  been  handsome  sum  of  money  and  a  store 

struck    by  Coleridge's  writings,  or  of  baby-linen,  worth,  if  one  may  ac- 

perhaps  had  heard  him  preach  when  cept  Coleridge's  valuation,  a  matter 

he  visited  Derby  on  his  Watchman  of  forty  pounds.     Thomas  Poole  and 

tour,  and  was  anxious  to  engage  him  his  Friends,  i.  152-154  ;   Estlin  Let' 

as  tutor  to  her  children.     The  offer  ters,  p.  13. 


216  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [FEB. 

strong,  very  strong  abilities.  Joseph  Strutt  every  way 
amiable.  He  deserves  his  wife  —  which  is  saying  a  great 
deal  —  for  she  is  a  sweet-minded  woman,  and  one  that 
you  would  be  apt  to  recollect  whenever  you  met  or  used 
the  words  lovely,  handsome,  beautiful,  etc.  "  While 
smiling  Loves  the  shaft  display,  And  lift  the  playful  torch 
elate."  Perhaps  you  may  be  so  fortunate  as  to  meet 
with  a  Mrs.  Evans  whose  seat  is  at  Darley,  about  a  mile 
from  Derby.  Blessings  descend  on  her  !  emotions  crowd 
on  me  at  the  sight  of  her  name.  We  spent  five  weeks  at 
her  house,  a  sunny  spot  in  our  life.  My  Sara  sits  and 
thinks  and  thinks  of  her  and  bursts  into  tears,  and  when 
I  turn  to  her  says,  "  I  was  thinking,  my  dear,  of  Mrs. 
Evans  and  Bessy "  (that  is,  her  daughter).  I  mention 
this  to  you,  because  things  are  characterized  by  their 
effects.  She  is  no  common  being  who  could  create  so 
warm  and  lasting  an  interest  in  our  hearts ;  for  we  are 
no  common  people.  Indeed,  indeed,  Thelwall,  she  is  with- 
out exception  the  greatest  woman  I  have  been  fortunate 
enough  to  meet  with  in  my  brief  pilgrimage  through  life. 
At  Nottingham  you  will  surely  be  more  likely  to  obtain 
audiences ;  and,  I  doubt  not,  you  will  find  a  hospitable 
reception  there.  I  was  treated  by  many  families  with 
kindliness,  by  some  with  a  zeal  of  affection.  Write  me 
if  you  go  and  when  you  go.  Now  for  your  pamphlet.  It 
is  well  written,  and  the  doctrine  sound,  although  some- 
times, I  think,  deduced  falsely.  For  instance  (p.  iii.)  : 
It  is  true  that  all  a  man's  children,  "  however  begotten, 
whether  in  marriage  or  out,"  are  his  heirs  in  nature,  and 
ought  to  be  so  in  true  policy ;  but,  instead  of  tacitly  allow- 
ing that  I  meant  by  it  to  encourage  what  Mr.  B.1  and  the 

1  Probably  Jacob   Bryant,  1715-  1792;   The   Sentiments  of  Philo-Ju- 

1804,  author  of  An  Address  to  Dr.  dceus  concerning  the  Logos  or  Word 

Priestley  upon  his  Doctrine  of  Philo-  of  God,   1797,  etc.     Allibone's  Dic- 

sophical  Necessity,  1780 ;  Treatise  on  tionary,  i.  270. 
the   Authenticity  of  the    Scriptures, 


1797]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  217 

priests  would  call  licentiousness  (and  which  surely,  Thel- 
wall,  in  the  present  state  of  society  you  must  allow  to  be 
injustice,  inasmuch  as  it  deprives  the  woman  of  her  re- 
spectability in  the  opinions  of  her  neighbours),  I  would 
have  shown  that  such  a  law  would  of  all  others  operate 
most  powerfully  in  favour  of  marriage  ;  by  which  word  I 
mean  not  the  effect  of  spells  uttered  by  conjurers,  but 
permanent  cohabitation  useful  to  society  as  the  best  con- 
ceivable means  (in  the  present  state  of  society,  at  least) 
of  ensuring  nurture  and  systematic  education  to  infants 
and  children.  We  are  but  frail  beings  at  present,  and 
want  such  motives  to  the  practice  of  our  duties.  Un- 
chastity  may  be  no  vice,  —  I  think  it  is,  —  but  it  may 
be  no  vice,  abstractly  speaking ;  yet  from  a  variety  of 
causes  unchaste  women  are  almost  without  exception 
careless  mothers.  Wife  is  a  solemn  name  to  me  because 
of  its  influence  on  the  more  solemn  duties  of  mother. 
Such  passages  (p.  30  is  another  of  them)  are  offensive. 
They  are  mere  assertions,  and  of  course  can  convince  no 
person  who  thinks  differently;  and  they  give  pain  and 
irritate.  I  write  so  frequently  to  you  on  this  subject, 
because  I  have  reason  to  know  that  passages  of  this  order 
did  give  very  general  offence  in  your  first  part,  and  have 
operated  to  retard  the  sale  of  the  second.  If  they  had 
been  arguments  or  necessarily  connected  with  your  main 
argument,  I  am  not  the  man,  Thelwall,  who  would  op- 
pose the  filth  of  prudentials  merely  to  have  it  swept 
away  by  the  indignant  torrent  of  your  honesty.  But  as  I 
said  before,  they  are  mere  assertions  ;  and  certainly  their 
truth  is  not  self-evident.  With  the  exception  of  these 
passages,  the  pamphlet  is  the  best  I  have  read  since  the 
commencement  of  the  war  ;  warm,  not  fiery,  well-seasoned 
without  being  dry,  the  periods  harmonious  yet  avoiding 
metrical  harmony,  and  the  ornaments  so  dispersed  as  to 
set  off  the  features  of  truth  without  turning  the  attention 
on  themselves.  I  account  for  its  slow  sale  partly  from 


218  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [FEB. 

your  having  compared  yourself  to  Christ  in  the  first 
(which  gave  great  offence,  to  my  knowledge,  although 
very  foolishly,  I  confess),  and  partly  from  the  sore  and 
fatigued  state  of  men's  minds,  which  disqualifies  them  for 
works  of  principle  that  exert  the  intellect  without  agita- 
ting the  passions.  But  it  has  not  been  reviewed  yet,  has 
it?  I  read  your  narrative  and  was  almost  sorry  I  had 
read  it,  for  I  had  become  much  interested,  and  the  abrupt 
"  no  more  "  jarred  me.  I  never  heard  before  of  your 
variance  with  Home  Tooke.  Of  the  poems,  the  two 
Odes  are  the  best.  Of  the  two  Odes,  the  last,  I  think  ; 
it  is  in  the  best  style  of  Akenside's  best  Odes.  Several 
of  the  sonnets  are  pleasing,  and  whenever  I  was  pleased 
I  paused,  and  imaged  you  in  my  mind  in  your  captivity. 
.  .  .  My  Ode  x  by  this  time  you  are  conscious  that  you 
have  praised  too  highly.  With  the  exception  of  "  I  un- 
partaking  of  the  evil  thing,"  which  line  I  do  not  think 
injudiciously  weak,  I  accede  to  all  your  remarks,  and 
shall  alter  accordingly.  Your  remark  that  the  line  on 
the  Empress  had  more  of  Juvenal  than  Pindar  flashed 
itself  on  my  mind.  I  had  admired  the  line  before,  but 
I  became  immediately  of  your  opinion,  and  that  criticism 
has  convinced  me  that  your  nerves  are  exquisite  electro- 
meters 2  of  taste.  You  forgot  to  point  out  to  me  that  the 

"  Ode  to  the  Departing  Year,"  _  in  mma  j  mean)  and  heart.  Her 
published  in  the  Cambridge  Intelli-  information  various.  Her  eye  •watch- 
fencer,  December  24,  1796.  The  ftd  in  minutest  observation  of  nature ; 
lines  on  the  "  Empress,"  to  which  and  her  taste  a  perfect  electrometer. 
Thelwall  objected,  are  in  the  first  It  bends,  protrudes,  and  draws  in,  at 
epode  :  subtlest  beauties  and  most  recondite 

No  more  on  Murder's  lurid  face  faults." 

The  insatiate  Hag  shall  gloat  with  drunken         Bennett's,  or  the  gold  leaf  electro- 
eye,  scope,  is  an  instrument  for  "  detect- 
Poetical  Works,  p.  79.  ing  the  presence,  and  determining 
2  Compare    the  well-known    de-  the  kind  of  electricity  in  any  body." 
scription   of  Dorothy   Wordsworth,  Two  narrow  strips  of  gold  leaf  are 
in  a  letter  to  Cottle  of  July,  1797  :  attached  to  a  metal  rod,  terminating 
W.   and    his   exquisite   sister  are  in  a  small  brass  plate  above,  con- 
with  me.    She  is  a  woman,  indeed,  tained   in  a  glass  shade,  and  these 


1797]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  219 

whole  childbirth  of  Nature  is  at  once  ludicrous  and  dis- 
gusting, an  epigram  smart  yet  bombastic.  The  review 
of  Bryant's  pamphlet  is  good  —  the  sauce  is  better  than 
the  fish.  Speaking  of  Lewis's  death,  surely  you  forget 
that  the  legislature  of  France  were  to  act  by  laws  and 
not  by  general  morals ;  and  that  they  violated  the  law 
which  they  themselves  had  made.  I  will  take  in  the  "  Cor- 
responding Society  Magazine."  That  good  man,  James 
Losh,  has  just  published  an  admirable  treatise  trans- 
lated from  tfye  French  of  Benjamin  Constant,1  entitled, 
"  Consideration  on  the  Strength  of  the  Present  Govern- 
ment of  France."  "  Woe  to  that  country  when  crimes 
are  punished  by  crimes,  and  where  men  murder  in  the 
name  of  justice."  I  apply  this  to  the  death  of  the  mis- 
taken but  well-meaning  Lewis.2  I  never  go  to  Bristol. 
From  seven  till  half  past  eight  I  work  in  my  garden ; 
from  breakfast  till  twelve  I  read  and  compose,  then  read 
again,  feed  the  pigs,  poultry,  etc.,  till  two  o'clock ;  after 
dinner  work  again  till  tea ;  from  tea  till  supper,  review. 
So  jogs  the  day,  and  I  am  happy.  I  have  society  —  my 
friend  T.  Poole,  and  as  many  acquaintances  as  I  can  dis- 
pense with.  There  are  a  number  of  very  pretty  young 

under  certain  conditions  of  the  ap-  settled  at  Jesmond,  Newcastle.     His 

plication  of    positive   and  negative  name  occurs  among  the  subscribers 

electricity  diverge  or  collapse.  to  The  Friend.   Letters  from  the  Lake 

The   gold  leaf  electroscope   was  Poets,  p.  453. 

invented  by  Abraham  Bennett  in  2  Compare  stanzas  eight  and  nine 

1786.     Cottle's  Early  Recollections,  of  "  The  Mad  Ox :  "  — 

i.  252;    Ganot's   Physics,    1870,   p.  Old  Lewis  ('t  was  his  evil  day) 

631.  Stood  trembling  in  his  shoes ; 

1  His    tract    On   the    Strength   of  The  ox  was  his -what  could  he  say? 

*i      IT-   •,.•        n                 *   lii.     TV  His  legs  were  stiffened  with  dismay, 

the  Existing  Government  (the  Direc-  ^  QX  ^  o,er  Wm  mid  the  ^ 

tory)    of  France,  and  the  Necessity  j^^  g^  j^  his  death's  bruise. 

of  supporting  it,  was   published   in 

1796.  The  baited  ox  drove  on  (but  here, 
The  translator,  James  Losh,  de-  The  Gospel  scarce  more  true  is, 

.     ,  ,      ~          '  ,     .  .  My  muse  stops  short  in  mid  career  — 

scribed  by  Southey  as     a  provincial  Nay>  gentle  readei>)  do  not  sneer  , 

counsel,"  was  at  one  time  resident  in        T.  coui,i  chuse  but  drop  a  tear, 
Cumberland,  and   visited   Coleridge  A  tear  for  good  old  Lewis !) 

at  Greta  Hall.     At  a  later  period  he  Poetical  Works,  p.  134. 


220 


THE  STOWEY  PERIOD 


[JULY 


women  in  Stowey,  all  musical,  and  I  am  an  immense 
favourite  :  for  I  pun,  conundrumize,  listen,  and  dance. 
The  last  is  a  recent  acquirement.  We  are  very  happy, 
and  my  little  David  Hartley  grows  a  sweet  boy  and  has 
high  health ;  he  laughs  at  us  till  he  makes  us  weep  for 
very  fondness.  You  would  smile  to  see  my  eye  rolling 
up  to  the  ceiling  in  a  lyric  fury,  and  on  my  knee  a  diaper 
pinned  to  warm.  I  send  and  receive  to  and  from  Bristol 
every  week,  and  will  transcribe  that  part  of  your  last 
letter  and  send  it  to  Reed. 

I  raise  potatoes  and  all  manner  of  vegetables,  have  an 
orchard,  and  shall  raise  corn  with  the  spade,  enough  for 
my  family.  We  have  two  pigs,  and  ducks  and  geese.  A 
cow  would  not  answer  the  keep :  for  we  have  whatever 
milk  we  want  from  T.  Poole.  God  bless  you  and  your 

affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LXXIII.   TO   JOSEPH   COTTLE.1 

June,  1797. 

MY  DEAR  COTTLE,  —  I  am  sojourning  for  a  few  days 
at  Racedown,  the  mansion  of  our  friend  Wordsworth, 
who  has  received  Fox's  "  Achmed."  He  returns  you  his 
acknowledgments,  and  presents  his  kindliest  respects  to 


1  The  probable  date  of  this  let- 
ter is  Thursday,  June  8,  1797.  On 
Monday,  June  5,  Coleridge  break- 
fasted with  Dr.  Toulmin,  the  Unita- 
rian minister  at  Taunton,  and  on  the 
evening  of  that  or  the  next  day  he 
arrived  on  foot  at  Racedown,  some 
forty  miles  distant.  Mrs.  Words- 
worth, in  a  letter  to  Sara  Coleridge, 
dated  November  7,  1845,  conveys 
her  husband's  recollections  of  this 
first  visit  in  the  following  words : 
"  Your  father,"  she  says,  "  came 
afterwards  to  visit  us  at  Racedown, 
where  I  was  living  with  my  sister. 


We  have  both  a  distinct  remem- 
brance of  his  arrival.  He  did  not 
keep  to  the  high  road,  but  leaped 
over  a  high  gate  and  bounded  down 
the  pathless  field,  by  which  he  cut 
off  an  angle.  We  both  retain  the 
liveliest  possible  image  of  his  ap- 
pearance at  that  moment.  My  poor 
sister  has  just  been  speaking  of  it  to 
me  with  much  feeling  and  tender- 
ness." A  portion  of  this  letter,  of 
which  I  possess  the  original  MS.,  was 
printed  by  Professor  Knight  in  his 
Life  of  Wordsworth,  i.  111. 


1797]  TO   ROBERT  SOUTHEY  221 

you.  I  shall  be  home  by  Friday  —  not  to-morrow  —  but 
the  next  Friday.  If  the  "  Ode  on  the  Departing  Year  " 
be  not  reprinted,  please  to  omit  the  lines  from  "  When 
shall  scepter'd  slaughter  cease,"  to  "  For  still  does  Mad- 
ness roam  on  Guilt's  bleak  dizzy  height,"  inclusive.1  The 
first  epode-  is  to  end  at  the  words  "  murderer's  fate." 
Wordsworth  admires  my  tragedy,  which  gives  me  great 
hopes.  Wordsworth  has  written  a  tragedy  himself.  I 
speak  with  heartfelt  sincerity,  and  (I  think)  unblinded 
judgment,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  feel  myself  a  little  man 
by  his  side,  and  yet  do  not  think  myself  the  less  man  than 
I  formerly  thought  myself.  His  drama  is  absolutely 
wonderful.  You  know  I  do  not  commonly  speak  in  such 
abrupt  and  unmingled  phrases,  and  therefore  will  the 
more  readily  believe  me.  There  are  in  the  piece  those 
profound  touches  of  the  human  heart  which  I  find  three 
or  four  times  in  "  The  Robbers  "  of  Schiller,  and  often 
in  Shakespeare,  but  in  Wordsworth  there  are  no  inequal- 
ities. T.  Poole's  opinion  of  Wordsworth  is  that  he  is  the 
greatest  man  he  ever  knew ;  I  coincide. 

It  is  not  impossible,  that  in  the  course  of  two  or  three 
months  I  may  see  you.  God  bless  you,  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Thursday.  —  Of  course,  with  the  lines  you  omit  the 
notes  that  relate  to  them. 

MR.  COTTLE,  Bookseller,  High  Street,  Bristol. 

LXXIV.     TO   ROBERT   SOUTHEY. 

July,  1797. 

DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  You  are  acting  kindly  in  your  ex- 
ertions for  Chatterton's  sister ;  but  I  doubt  the  success. 
Chatterton's  or  Rowley's  poems  were  never  popular.  The 
very  circumstance  which  made  them  so  much  talked  of, 

1  This  passage,   which  for  some     the  poems  had  not  appeared,  by  the 
reason  Cottle  chose  to  omit,  seems     beginning  of  June, 
to  imply  that  the  second  edition  of 


222 


THE  STOWEY  PERIOD 


[JULY 


their  ancientness,  prevented  them  from  being  generally 
read,  in  the  degree,  I  mean,  that  Goldsmith's  poems  or 
even  Kogers'  thing  upon  memory  has  been.  The  sale  was 
never  very  great.  Secondly,  the  London  Edition  and  the 
Cambridge  Edition,  which  are  now  both  of  them  the 
property  of  London  booksellers,  are  still  in  hand,  and 
these  booksellers  will  "  hardly  exert  their  interest  for  a 
rival."  Thirdly,  these  are  bad  times.  Fourthly,  all  who 
are  sincerely  zealous  for  Chatterton,  or  who  from  know- 
ledge of  her  are  interested  in  poor  Mrs.  Newton,  will  come 
forwards  first,  and  if  others  should  drop  in  but  slowly, 
Mrs.  Newton  will  either  receive  no  benefit  at  all  from 
those  her  friends,  or  one  so  long  procrastinated,  from  the 
necessity  of  waiting  for  the  complement  of  subscribers, 
that  it  may  at  last  come  too  late.  For  these  reasons  I  am 
almost  inclined  to  think  a  subscription  simply  would  be 
better.  It  is  unpleasant  to  cast  a  damp  on  anything; 
but  that  benevolence  alone  is  likely  to  be  beneficent  which 
calculates.  If,  however,  you  continue  to  entertain  higher 
hopes  than  I,  believe  me,  I  will  shake  off  my  sloth,  and 
use  my  best  muscles  in  gaining  subscribers.  I  will  cer- 
tainly write  a  preliminary  essay,  and  I  will  attempt  to 
write  a  poem  on  the  life  and  death  of  Chatterton,  but  the 
Monody  must  not  be  reprinted.  Neither  this  nor  the 
Pixies'  Parlour  would  have  been  in  the  second  edition,  but 
for  dear  Cottle's  solicitous  importunity.  Excepting  the 
last  eighteen  lines  of  the  Monody,  which,  though  deficient 
in  chasteness  and  severity  of  diction,  breathe  a  pleasing 
spirit  of  romantic  feeling,  there  are  not  five  lines  in  either 
poem  which  might  not  have  been  written  by  a  man  who 
had  lived  and  died  in  the  self-same  St.  Giles'  cellar,  in 
which  he  had  been  first  suckled  by  a  drab  with  milk 
and  gin.  The  Pixies  is  the  least  disgusting,  because  the 
subject  leads  you  to  expect  nothing,  but  on  a  life  and 
death  so  full  of  heart-going  realities  as  poor  Chatterton's, 
to  find  such  shadowy  nobodies  as  cherub-winged  Death, 


1797]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  £23 

Trees  of  Hope,  bare-bosomed  Affection  and  simpering 
Peace,  makes  one's  blood  circulate  like  ipecacuanha.  But 
so  it  is.  A  young  man  by  strong  feelings  is  impelled 
to  write  on  a  particular  subject,  and  this  is  all  his  feel- 
ings do  for  him.  They  set  him  upon  the  business  and 
then  they  leave  him.  He  has  such  a  high  idea  of  what 
poetry  ought  to  be,  that  he  cannot  conceive  that  such 
things  as  his  natural  emotions  may  be  allowed  to  find  a 
place  in  it  ;  his  learning  therefore,  his  fancy,  or  rather 
conceit,  and  all  his  powers  of  buckram  are  put  on  the 
stretch.  It  appears  to  me  that  strong  feeling  is  not  so  / 
requisite  to  an  author's  being  profoundly  pathetic  as  taste  / 
and  good  sense. 

Poor  old  Whag  !  his  mother  died  of  a  dish  of  clotted 
cream,  which  my  mother  sent  her  as  a  present. 

I  rejoice  that  your  poems  are  all  sold.  In  the  ballad  of 
"  Mary  the  Maid  of  the  Inn,"  you  have  properly  enough 
made  the  diction  colloquial,  but  "  engages  the  eye,"  ap- 
plied to  a  gibbet,  strikes  me  as  slipshoppish  from  the 
unfortunate  meaning  of  the  word  "  engaging."  Your 
praise  of  my  Dedication  1  gave  me  great  pleasure.  From 
the  ninth  to  the  fourteenth  the  five  lines  are  flat  and 
prosish,  and  the  versification  ever  and  anon  has  too  much 
of  the  rhyme  couplet  cadence,  and  the  metaphor  2  on 

1  ...  Such,  O  my  earliest  friend  !  Compare   Lamb's    humorous    re- 

Thy  lot,  and  such  thy  brothers  too  enjoy.  ch  ^  a  letter  to  Coleridge,  Sep- 

At  distance  did  ye  climb  life's  upland  road,  ,          .  .__,_     ,,  _,                 ,  ,  T 

Yet  cheered  and  cheering:  now  fraternal  tember>  1797  :      For  m?s&]f  l  must 

love  spoil  a  little  passage  of  Beaumont 

Hath  drawn  you  to  one  centre.  and    Fletcher's  to  adapt  it  to  my 

Poetical  Works,  p.  81,  1.  9-14.  feehngs  :  — 

...  I  am  prouder 

2  ...  and  some  most  false,  That  I  was  once  your  friend,  tho'  now  for- 
False,  and  fair-foliaged  as  the  Manchineel,  gOt, 

Have  tempted  me  to  slumber  in  their  shade  Than  to  have  had  another  true  to  me. 
E'en  mid  the  storm  ;  then  breathing  sub- 

tlest damp  "  If  you  don't  write  to  me  now, 

Mixed  their  own  venom  with  the  rain  from  as  I  told   Lloyd,  I  shall  get  angry, 

Heaven,  an(j  cajl  yOU  hard  names  —  Manchi- 

That  I  woke  poisoned.  nedj  Jmd  j  j^  knQW  what  elge  „ 


Poetical  Works,  p.  82,  1.  25-30.          Letters  of  Charles  Lamb,  i.  83. 


224  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [JULY 

the  diverse  sorts  of  friendship  is  hunted  down,  but  the 
poem  is  dear  to  me,  and  in  point  of  taste  I  place  it  next 
to  "  Low  was  our  pretty  Cot,"  which  I  think  the  best  of 
my  poems. 

I  am  as  much  a  Pangloss  as  ever,  only  less  contemptu- 
ous than  I  used  to  be,  when  I  argue  how  unwise  it  is  to 
feel  contempt  for  anything. 

I  had  been  on  a  visit  to  Wordsworth's  at  Racedown, 
near  Crewkerne,  and  I  brought  him  and  his  sister  back 
with  me,  and  here  I  have  settled  them.  By  a  combina- 
tion of  curious  circumstances  a  gentleman's  seat,  with 
a  park  and  woods,  elegantly  and  completely  furnished, 
with  nine  lodging  rooms,  three  parlours,  and  a  hall,  in  the 
most  beautiful  and  romantic  situation  by  the  seaside,  four 
miles  from  Stowey,  —  this  we  have  got  for  Wordsworth  at 
the  rent  of  twenty-three  pounds  a  year,  taxes  included  ! 
The  park  and  woods  are  his  for  all  purposes  he  wants 
them,  and  the  large  gardens  are  altogether  and  entirely 
his.  Wordsworth  is  a  very  great  man,  the  only  man  to 
whom  at  all  times  and  in  all  modes  of  excellence  I  feel 
myself  inferior,  the  only  one,  I  mean,  whom  /  have  yet 
met  with,  for  the  London  literati  appear  to  me  to  be 
very  much  like  little  potatoes,  that  is,  no  great  things,  a 
compost  of  nullity  and  dullity. 

Charles  Lamb  has  been  with  me  for  a  week.1  He  left 
me  Friday  morning.  The  second  day  after  Wordsworth 
came  to  me,  dear  Sara  accidentally  emptied  a  skillet  of 
boiling  milk  on  my  foot,  which  confined  me  during  the 
whole  time  of  C.  Lamb's  stay  and  still  prevents  me  from 
all  walks  longer  than  a  furlong.  While  Wordsworth,  his 
sister,  and  Charles  Lamb  were  out  one  evening,  sitting  in 
the  arbour  of  T.  Poole's  garden  2  which  communicates  with 

1  Charles  Lamb's  visit  to  the  cot-  2  According  to  local  tradition,  the 

tage  of  Nether  Stowey  lasted  from  lime-tree  bower  was  at  the  back  of 

Friday,  July  7,  to  Friday,  July  14,  the  cottage,   but  •  according  to  this 

1797.  letter    it    was    in    Poole's    garden. 


1797] 


TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY 


225 


mine  I  wrote  these  lines,  with  which  I  am  pleased.  (I 
heard  from  C.  Lamb  of  Favell  and  Le  Grice.1  Poor 
Allen !  I  knew  nothing  of  it.2  As  to  Rough,3  he  is  a 
wonderful  fellow  ;  and  when  I  returned  from  the  army, 
cut  me  for  a  month,  till  he  saw  that  other  people  were  as 
much  attached  as  before.) 

Well,  they  are  gone,  and  here  must  I  remain, 
Lam'd  by  the  scathe  of  fire,  lonely  and  faint, 
This  lime-tree  bower  my  prison  !     They,  meantime 
My  Friends,4  whom  I  may  never  meet  again, 


From  either  spot  the  green  ram- 
parts of  Stowey  Castle  and  the 
"  airy  ridge  "  of  Dowseborough  are 
full  in  view. 

1  "He  [Le  Grice]  and  Favell  .  .  . 
wrote  to  the  Duke  of  York,  when 
they  were  at  college,  for  commis- 
sions in  the  army.     The  Duke  good- 
naturedly  sent  them."     Autobiogra- 
phy of  Leigh  Hunt,  p.  72. 

2  Possibly  he  alludes  to  his  ap- 
pointment as  deputy-surgeon  to  the 
Second    Royals,  then   stationed   in 
Portugal. 

His  farewell  letter  to  Coleridge 
(undated)  has  been  preserved  and 
will  be  read  with  interest. 

PORTSMOUTH. 

MY  BELOVED  FRIEND,  —  Fare- 
well !  I  shall  never  think  of  you 
but  with  tears  of  the  tenderest  af- 
fection. Our  routes  in  life  have 
been  so  opposite,  that  for  a  long 
time  past  there  has  not  been  that 
intercourse  between  us  which  our 
mutual  affection  would  have  other- 
wise occasioned.  But  at  this  seri- 
ous moment,  all  your  kindness  and 
love  for  me  press  upon  my  memory 
with  a  weight  of  sensation  I  can 
scarcely  endure. 


You  have  heard  of  my  destination, 
I  suppose.  I  am  going  to  Portugal 
to  join  the  Second  Royals,  to  which 
I  have  been  appointed  Deputy-Sur- 
geon. What  fate  is  in  reserve  for 
me  I  know  not.  I  should  be  more 
indifferent  to  my  future  lot,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  hope  of  passing 
many  pleasant  hours,  in  times  to 
come,  in  your  society. 

Adieu !  my  dearest  fellow.  My 
love  to  Mrs.  C.  Health  and  frater- 
nity to  young  David. 

Yours  most  affectionate, 

R.  ALLEN. 

8  A  friend  and  fellow-collegian 
of  Christopher  Wordsworth  at  Trin- 
ity College,  Cambridge.  He  was  a 
member  of  the  "  Literary  Society  " 
to  which  Coleridge,  C.  Wordsworth, 
Le  Grice,  and  others  belonged.  He 
afterwards  became  a  sergeant-at- 
law.  He  was  an  intimate  friend  of 
H.  Crabb  Robinson.  See  H.  C. 
Robinson's  Diary,  passim-  See,  too, 
Social  Life  at  the  English  Universi- 
ties, by  Christopher  Wordsworth, 
M.  A.,  Fellow  of  Peterhouse,  Cam- 
bridge, 1874,  Appendix. 

4  Not,    as    has    been    supposed, 


j 


226  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [JULY 

On  springy  1  heath,  along  the  hill-top  edge 
Wander  delighted,  and  look  down,  perchance, 
On  that  same  rifted  Dell,  where  many  an  ash 
Twists  its  wild  limbs,  beside  the  ferny  2  rock 
Whose  plumy  ferns  forever  nod  and  drip, 
Spray'd  by  the  waterfall.     But  chiefly  thou 
My  gentle-hearted  Charles  !  thou  who  had  pin'd 
And  hunger'd  after  Nature  many  a  year, 
In  the  great  City  pent,  winning  thy  way 
With  sad  yet  bowed  soul,  through  evil  and  pain 
And  strange  calamity  !     Ah !  slowly  sink 
Behind  the  western  ridge,  thou  glorious  Sun  ! 
Shine  in  the  slant  heaven  of  the  sinking  orb, 
Ye  purple  heath-flowers  !  richlier  burn,  ye  clouds 
~  Live  in  the  yellow  Light,  ye  distant  groves ! 
Struck  with  joy's  deepest  calm,  and  gazing  round 
On  8  the  wide  view,  may  gaze  till  all  doth  seem 
Less  gross  than  bodily  ;  a  living  thing 
That  acts  upon  the  mind,  and  with  such  hues 
•  As  clothe  the  Almighty  Spirit,  when  He  makes 
Spirits  perceive  His  presence  ! 

A  delight 

Comes  sudden  on  my  heart,  and  I  am  glad 
As  I  myself  were  there !  nor  in  the  bower 

Charles  and  Mary  Lamb,  but  Words-  "  My  sister,"  but  in  forming1  friend- 
worth  and  his  sister  Dorothy.  Mary  ships  Coleridge  did  not  "  keep  to 
Lamb  was  not  and  could  not  have  the  high  road,  but  leaped  over  a 
been  at  that  time  one  of  the  party,  gate  and  bounded  "  from  acquaint- 
The  version  sent  to  Southey  differs  ance  to  intimacy.  Poetical  Works, 
both  from  that  printed  in  the  Annual  p.  92.  For  version  of  "  This  Lime- 
Anthology  of  1800,  and  from  a  copy  Tree  Bower  my  Prison,"  sent  to  C. 
in  a  contemporary  letter  sent  to  C.  Lloyd,  see  Ibid.,  Editor's  Note,  p. 
Lloyd.  It  is  interesting  to  note  591. 

that  the  words,  "  My  sister,  and  my  a  "  Elastic,  I  mean."  —  S.  T.  C. 

friends,"  11.  47  and  53,  which  gave  2  "  The  ferns  that  grow  in  moist 

place  in  the  Anthology  to  the  thrice-  places  grow  five  or  six  together,  and 

repeated,       "My     gentle  -  hearted  form  a  complete  '  Prince  of  Wales's 

Charles,"   appear,    in   a  copy  sent  Feathers,'  —  that  is,   plumy."  —  S. 

to  Lloyd,   as    "  My   Sara  and    my  T.  C. 

friend."     It  was  early  days  for  him  3  "  You  remember  I  am  a  Berk- 

to  address  Dorothy  Wordsworth  as  leian."  —  S.  T.  C. 


1797]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  227 

Want  I  sweet  sounds  or  pleasing  shapes.     I  watch'd 
The  sunshine  of  each  hroad  transparent  leaf 
Broke  by  the  shadows  of  the  leaf  or  stem 
Which  hung  above  it :  and  that  walnut-tree 
Was  richly  ting'd,  and  a  deep  radiance  lay 
Full  on  the  ancient  ivy,  which  usurps 
Those  fronting  elms,  and  now  with  blackest  mass 
Makes  their  dark  foliage  gleam  a  lighter  hue 
Through  the  late  twilight :  and  though  the  rapid  bat 
Wheels  silent  by,  and  not  a  swallow  titters, 
Yet  still  the  solitary  humble  bee 
„   Sings  in  the  bean-flower  !     Henceforth  I  shall  know 

That  Nature  ne'er  deserts  the  wise  and  pure ; 
»  No  scene  so  narrow,  but  may  well  employ 

Each  faculty  of  sense,  and  keep  the  heart 
Awake  to  Love  and  Beauty !  and  sometimes 
'T  is  well  to  be  bereav'd  of  promised  good, 
That  we  may  lift  the  soul  and,  contemplate 
With  lively  joy  the  joys  we  cannot  share. 
My  Sister  and  my  Friends  !  when  the  last  rook 
Beat  its  straight  path  along  the  dusky  air 
Homewards,  I  bless'd  it !  deeming  its  black  wing 
Cross'd  like  a  speck  the  blaze  of  setting  day 
While  ye  stood  gazing ;  or  when  all  was  still, 
Flew  creaking  o'er  your  heads,  and  had  a  charm 
For  you,  my  Sister  and  my  Friends,  to  whom 
No  sound  is  dissonant  which  tells  of  Life, 

I  would  make  a  shift  by  some  means  or  other  to  visit 
you,  if  I  thought  that  you  and  Edith  Southey  would  re- 
turn with  me.  I  think  —  indeed,  I  am  almost  certain  — 
that  I  could  get  a  one-horse  chaise  free  of  all  expense.  I 
have  driven  back  Miss  Wordsworth  over  forty  miles  of 
execrable  roads,  and  have  been  always  very  cautious,  and 
am  now  no  inexpert  whip.  And  Wordsworth,  at  whose 
house  I  now  am  for  change  of  air,  has  commissioned  me 
to  offer  you  a  suite  of  rooms  at  this  place,  which  is  called 
"  All-foxen  ;  "  and  so  divine  and  wild  is  the  country  that 


228  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [Ocr. 

I  am  sure  it  would  increase  your  stock  of  images,  and 
three  weeks'  absence  from  Christchurch  will  endear  it  to 
you ;  and  Edith  Southey  and  Sara  may  not  have  another 
opportunity  of  seeing  one  another,  and  Wordsworth  is 
very  solicitous  to  know  you,  and  Miss  Wordsworth  is  a 
most  exquisite  young  woman  in  her  mind  and  heart.  I 
pray  you  write  me  immediately,  directing  Stowey,  near 
Bridgewater,  as  before. 

God  bless  you  and  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LXXV.     TO   JOHN   THELWALL. 

Saturday  morning  [October  16],  1797. 

MY  DEAR  THELWALL,  —  I  have  just  received  your  let- 
ter, having  been  absent  a  day  or  two,  and  have  already, 
before  I  write  to  you,  written  to  Dr.  Beddoes.  I  would 
to  Heaven  it  were  in  my  power  to  serve  you ;  but  alas !  I 
have  neither  money  or  influence,  and  I  suppose  that  at  last 
I  must  become  a  Unitarian  minister,  as  a  less  evil  than 
starvation.  For  I  get  nothing  by  literature.  .  .  .  You 
have  my  wishes  and,  what  is  very  liberal  in  me  for  such  an 
atheist  reprobate,  my  prayers.  I  can  at  times  feel  strongly 
the  beauties  you  describe,  in  themselves  and  for  them- 
selves ;  but  more  frequently  all  things  appear  little,  all 
the  knowledge  that  can  be  acquired  child's  play;  the 
universe  itself  !  what  but  an  immense  heap  of  little  things  ? 
I  can  contemplate  no.thing  but  parts,  and  parts  are  all 
little  !  My  mind  feels  as  if  it  ached  to  behold  and  know 
something  great,  something  one  and  indivisible.  And  it  is 
only  in  the  faith  of  that  that  rocks  or  waterfalls,  moun- 
tains or  caverns,  give  me  the  sense  of  sublimity  or  ma- 
jesty !  But  in  this  faith  all  things  counterfeit  infinity. 

"  Struck  with  the  deepest  calm  of  joy,"  1  I  stand 
Silent,  with  swimming  sense ;  and  gazing  round 

1  "  This  Lime-Tree  Bower,"  1.  38.    Poetical  Works,  p.  93. 


1797]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  229 

On  the  wide  landscape,  gaze  till  all  doth  seem 
Less  gross  than  bodily,  a  living  Thing 
Which  acts  upon  the  mind  and  with  such  hues 
As  clothe  th'  Almighty  Spirit,  where  He  makes 
Spirits  perceive  His  presence  !  .  .  . 

It  is  but  seldom  that  I  raise  and  spiritualize  my  intel- 
lect to  this  height ;  and  at  other  times  I  adopt  the  Brah- 
min creed,  and  say,  "  It  is  better  to  sit  than  to  stand,  it  is 
better  to  lie  than  to  sit,  it  is  better  to  sleep  than  to  wake, 
but  Death  is  the  best  of  all !  "  I  should  much  wish,  like 
the  Indian  Vishnu,  to  float  about  along  an  infinite  ocean 
cradled  in  the  flower  of  the  Lotus,  and  wake  once  in  a  mil- 
lion years  for  a  few  minutes  just  to  know  that  I  was  going 
to  sleep  a  million  years  more.  I  have  put  this  feeling  in 
the  mouth  of  Alhadra,  my  Moorish  Woman.  She  is  going 
by  moonlight  to  the  house  of  Yelez,  where  the  band  turn 
off  to  wreak  their  vengeance  on  Francesco,  but 

She  moved  steadily  on, 
Unswerving  from  the  path  of  her  resolve. 

A  Moorish  priest,  who  has  been  with  her  and  then  left 
her  to  seek  the  men,  had  just  mentioned  the  owl,  "Its 
note  comes  dreariest  in  the  fall  of  the  year."  This  dwells 
on  her  mind,  and  she  bursts  into  this  soliloquy :  — 

The  l  hanging  woods,  that  touch'd  hy  autumn  seem'd 
As  they  were  blossoming  hues  of  fire  and  gold,  — 
The  hanging  woods,  most  lovely  in  decay, 
The  many  clouds,  the  sea,  the  rock,  the  sands, 
Lay  in  the  silent  moonshine  ;  and  the  owl, 
(Strange  !  very  strange  !)  the  scritch  owl  only  waked, 
Sole  voice,  sole  eye  of  all  that  world  of  beauty ! 
Why  such  a  thing  am  I  ?     Where  are  these  men  ? 
I  need  the  sympathy  of  human  faces 
To  beat  away  this  deep  contempt  for  all  things, 
*    Which  quenches  my  revenge.     Oh  !  would  to  Alia 

i  "  Osorio,"  Act  V.,  Sc.  1,  1.  39.    Poetical  Works,  p.  507. 


230  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [Ocx. 

The  raven  and  the  sea-mew  were  appointed 
To  bring  me  food,  or  rather  that  my  soul 
Could  drink  in  life  from  universal  air ! 
It  were  a  lot  divine  in  some  small  skiff, 
Along  some  ocean's  boundless  solitude, 
To  float  for  ever  with  a  careless  course, 
And  think  myself  the  only  being  alive  ! 

I  do  not  wonder  that  your  poem  procured  you  kisses 
and  hospitality.  It  is  indeed  a  very  sweet  one,  and  I  have 
not  only  admired  your  genius  more,  but  I  have  loved  you 
better  since  I  have  read  it.  Your  sonnet  (as  you  call  it, 
7  and,  being  a  freeborn  Briton,  who  shall  prevent  you  from 
calling  twenty-five  blank  verse  lines  a  sonnet,  if  you  have 
taken  a  bloody  resolution  so  to  do)  —  your  sonnet  I  am 
/  much  pleased  with  ;  but  the  epithet  "  downy  "  is  probably 
more  applicable  to  Susan's  upper  lip  than  to  her  bosom, 
and  a  mother  is  so  holy  and  divine  a  being  that  I  cannot 
endure  any  corporealizing  epithets  to  be  applied  to  her 
or  any  body  of  her  —  besides,  damn  epithets !  The  last 
line  and  a  half  I  suppose  to  be  miswritten.  What  can 
be  the  meaning  of  "  Or  scarce  one  leaf  to  cheer,"  etc.  ? 
"  Cornelian  virtues  "  —  pedantry !  The  "  melancholy 
fiend,"  villainous  in  itself,  and  inaccurate;  it  ought  to 
be  the  "fiend  that  makes  melancholy."  I  should  have 
written  it  thus  (or  perhaps  something  better),  "  but  with 
matron  cares  drives  away  heaviness  ;  "  and  in  your  similes, 
etc.,  etc.,  a  little  compression  would  make  it  a  beautiful 
poem.  Study  compression  ! 

I  presume  you  mean  decorum  by  Harum  Djck.  An 
affected  fellow  at  Bridgwater  called  truces  "  trusses."  I 
told  him  I  admired  his  pronunciation,  for  that  lately  they 
had  been  found  "to  suspend  ruptures  without  curing 
them." 

There  appeared  in  the  "  Courier  "  the  day  before  yes- 
terday a  very  sensible  vindication  of  the  conduct  of  the 
Directory.  Did  you  see  it  ? 


1797]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  231 

Your  news  respecting  Mrs.  E.  did  not  surprise  me.  I 
saw  it  even  from  the  first  week  I  was  at  Darley.  As  to 
the  other  event,  our  non-settleinent  at  Darley,  I  suspect, 
had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  it  —  but  the  cause  of  our 
non-settlement  there  might  perhaps  —  O  God  !  O  God ! 
I  wish  (but  what  is  the  use  of  wishing  f)  —  I  wish  that 
Walter  Evans  may  have  talent  enough  to  appreciate  Mrs. 
Evans,  but  I  suspect  his  intellect  is  not  tall  enough  even 
to  measure  hers. 

Hartley  is  well,  and  will  not  walk  or  run,  having  dis- 
covered the  art  of  crawling  with  wonderful  ease  and  ra- 
pidity. Wordsworth  and  his  sister  are  well.  I  want  to 
see  your  wife.  God  bless  her !  .  .  . 

Oh,  my  Tragedy !  it  is  finished,  transcribed,  and  to  be 
sent  off  to-day ;  but  I  have  no  hope  of  its  success,  or  even 
of  its  being  acted. 

God  bless,  etc., 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 
MR.  JOHN  THELWALL,  DerBy. 

LXXVI.     TO   THE    SAME. 

Saturday  morning,  Bridgwater. 
[Autumn,  1797.] 

MY  DEAR  THELWALL,  —  Yesterday  morning  I  miss'd 
the  coach,  and  was  ill  and  could  not  walk.  This  morning 
the  coach  was  completely  full,  but  I  was  not  ill,  and  so 
did  walk ;  and  here  I  am,  footsore  very,  and  weary  some- 
what. With  regard  to  the  business,  I  mentioned  it  at 
Howell's  4  but  I  perceive  he  is  absolutely  powerless. 
Chubb  I  would  have  called  on,  but  there  are  the  Assizes, 
and  I  find  he  is  surrounded  in  his  own  house  by  a  mob  of 
visitors  whom  it  is  scarcely  possible  for  him  to  leave,  long 
enough  at  least  for  the  conversation  I  want  with  him.  I 
will  write  him  to-morrow  morning,  and  shall  have  an  an- 
swer the  same  day,  which  I  will  transmit  to  you  on  Mon- 
day, but  you  cannot  receive  it  till  Tuesday  night.  If, 


232  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [Ocr. 

therefore,  you  leave  Swansea  before  that  time,  or,  in  case 
of  accident,  before  Wednesday  night,  leave  directions  with 
the  postmaster  to  have  your  letter  forwarded. 

I  go  for  Stowey  immediately,  which  will  make  my  walk 
forty-one  miles.  The  Howells  desire  to  be  remembered  to 
you  kindly. 

I  am  sad  at  heart  about  you  on  many  accounts,  but 
chiefly  anxious  for  this  present  business.  The  aristocrats 
seem  to  persecute  even  Wordsworth.1  But  we  will  at  least 
not  yield  without  a  struggle ;  and  if  I  cannot  get  you  near 
me,  it  shall  not  be  for  want  of  a  trial  on  my  part.  But 
perhaps  I  am  passing  the  worn-out  spirits  of  a  /a^-walk 
for  the  real  aspect  of  the  business. 

God  love  you,  and  believe  me  affectionately  your 
friend, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 
MR.  THELWALL, 

To  be  left  at  the  Post  Office,  Swansea, 
Glamorganshire. 

LXXVII.     TO   THE   SAME. 

[Autumn,  1797.] 

DEAR  THELWALL,  —  This  is  the  first  hour  that  I  could 
write  to  you  anything  decisive.  I  have  received  an  an- 
swer from  Chubb,  intimating  that  he  will  undertake  the 
office  of  procuring  you  a  cottage,  provided  it  was  thought 
right  that  you  should  settle  here  ;  but  this  (that  is  the  whole 
difficulty)  he  left  for  T.  Poole  and  me  to  settle,  and  he 
acquainted  Poole  with  this  determination.  Consequently, 

1  Thelwall's  visit  brought  Cole-  tenant  for  having  sublet  the  house 

ridge  and  Wordsworth  into  trouble,  to  Wordsworth.      See  letter  of   ex- 

At  the  instance  of  a  "titled  Dog-  planation    and    remonstrance    from 

berry,"  Sir  Philip  Hale  of  Canning-  Poole  to  Mrs.  St.  Albyn,  September 

ton,  a  government  spy  was  sent  to  16,  1797.     Thomas    Poole    and    his 

watch  the  movements  of   the  sup-  Friends,  i.  240.     See,   too,   Cottle's 

posed  conspirators,  and,  a  more  seri-  Early  Recollections,  i.  319,  and  for 

ous  matter,  Mrs.  St.  Albyn,  the  owner  apocryphal  anecdotes  about  the  spy, 

of  Alfoxden.  severely  censured  her  etc.,  Bioyraphia  Liter  aria,  cap.  x. 


1797]  TO  JOHN  THELWALL  233 

the  whole  returns  to  its  former  situation ;  and  the  hope 
which  I  had  entertained,  that  you  could  have  settled  with- 
out any  the  remotest  interference  of  Poole,  has  vanished. 
To  such  interference  on  his  part  there  are  insuperable 
difficulties :  the  whole  malignity  of  the  aristocrats  will 
converge  to  him  as  to  the  one  point ;  his  tranquillity  will 
be  perpetually  interrupted,  his  business  and  his  credit 
hampered  and  distressed  by  vexatious  calumnies,  the  ties 
of  relationship  weakened,  perhaps  broken  ;  and,  lastly,  his 
poor  old  mother  made  miserable  —  the  pain  of  the  stone 
aggravated  by  domestic  calamity  and  quarrels  betwixt  her 
son  and  those  neighbours  with  whom  and  herself  there 
have  been  peace  and  love  for  these  fifty  years.  Very 
great  odium  T.  Poole  incurred  by  bringing  me  here.  My 
peaceable  manners  and  known  attachment  to  Christian- 
ity had  almost  worn  it  away  when  Wordsworth  came, 
and  he,  likewise  by  T.  Poole's  agency,  settled  here.  You 
cannot  conceive  the  tumult,  calumnies,  and  apparatus  of 
threatened  persecutions  which  this  event  has  occasioned 
round  about  us.  If  you,  too,  should  come,  I  am  afraid 
that  even  riots,  and  dangerous  riots,  might  be  the  conse- 
quence. Either  of  us  separately  would  perhaps  be  toler- 
ated, but  all  three  together,  what  can  it  be  less  than  plot 
and  damned  conspiracy  —  a  school  for  the  propagation  of 
Demagogy  and  Atheism  ?  And  it  deserves  examination, 
whether  or  no  as  moralists  we  should  be  justified  in  haz- 
arding the  certain  evil  of  calling  forth  malignant  passions 
for  the  contingent  good,  that  might  result  from  our  living 
in  the  same  neighbourhood  ?  Add  to  which,  that  in  point 
of  the  public  interest,  we  must  take  into  the  balance  the 
Stowey  Benefit  Club.  Of  the  present  utility  of  this  T. 
Poole  thinks  highly ;  of  its  possible  utility,  very,  very  highly 
indeed ;  but  the  interests,  nay,  perhaps  the  existence  of 
this  club,  is  interwoven  with  his  character  as  a  peaceable 
and  undesigning  man ;  certainly,  any  future  and  greater 
excellence  which  he  hopes  to  realize  in  and  through  the 


234  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [JAN. 

society  will  vanish  like  a  dream  of  the  morning.  If,  there- 
fore, you  can  get  the  land  and  cottage  near  Bath  of  which 
you  spoke  to  me,  I  would  advise  it  on  many  accounts  ;  but 
if  you  still  see  the  arguments  on  the  other  side  in  a 
stronger  light  than  those  which  I  have  stated,  come,  but 
not  yet.  Come  in  two  or  three  months  —  take  lodgings 
at  Bridgwater  —  familiarise  the  people  to  your  name  and 
appearance,  and,  when  the  monstrosity  of  the  thing  is 
gone  off,  and  the  people  shall  have  begun  to  consider  you 
as  a  man  whose  mouth  won't  eat  them,  and  whose  pocket 
is  better  adapted  for  a  bundle  of  sonnets  than  the  trans- 
portation or  ambush  place  of  a  French  army,  then  you 
may  take  a  house ;  but  indeed  (I  say  it  with  a  very  sad 
but  a  very  clear  conviction),  at  present  I  see  that  much 
evil  and  little  good  would  result  from  your  settling  here. 

I  am  unwell.  This  business  has,  indeed,  preyed  much 
on  my  spirits,  and  I  have  suffered  for  you  more  than  I  hope 
and  trust  you  will  suffer  yourself. 

God  love  you  and  yours. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 
MR.  THELWALL, 
To  be  left  at  the  Post  Office,  Swansea,  Glamorganshire. 

LXXVIII.     TO   WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 

Tuesday  morning,  January,  1798. 

MY  DEAR  WORDSWORTH,  —  You  know,  of  course,  that 
I  have  accepted  the  magnificent  liberality  of  Josiah  and 
Thomas  Wedgwood.1  I  accepted  it  on  the  presumption 

1  Their  proposal  was  to  settle  on  Llyswen,  March  3, 1798,  contains  one 

Coleridge    "  an  annuity  for  life  of  of   several  announcements  of   "  his 

£150,  to  be  regularly  paid  by  us,  no  good  fortune,"  made  by  Coleridge  at 

condition  whatever  being  annexed  to  the  time  to  his  numerous  friends. 

it."    See  letter  of  Josiah  Wedgwood 

L    n  i     'J        j  j.  j  T  m  -i^rno      To  DR.  CROMPTON,  Eton  House,  Nr.  Liver- 

to  Coleridge,  dated  January  10, 1798.  } 

Thomas    Poole    and  his   Friends,  i.  LLYSWEN,  3d  March,  1798. 

258.  An  unpublished  letter  from  I  am  surprised  you  have  not  heard 
Thelwall  to  Dr.  Crompton  dated  the  particulars  of  Coleridge's  good 


1798] 


TO  WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH 


235 


that  I  had  talents,  honesty,  and  propensities  to  perse- 
verant  effort.  If  I  have  hoped  wisely  concerning  myself, 
I  have  acted  justly.  But  dismissing  severer  thoughts, 
believe  me,  my  dear  fellow !  that  of  the  pleasant  ideas 
which  accompanied  this  unexpected  event,  it  was  not  the 
least  pleasant,  nor  did  it  pass  through  my  mind  the  last 
in  the  procession,  that  I  should  at  least  be  able  to  trace 
the  spring  and  early  summer  at  Alfoxden  with  you,  and 
that  wherever  your  after  residence  may  be,  it  is  probable 
that  you  will  be  within  the  reach  of  my  tether,  length- 
ened as  it  now  is.  The  country  round  Shrewsbury  is 
rather  tame.  My  imagination  has  clothed  it  with  all  its 
summer  attributes ;  but  I  still  can  see  in  it  no  possibility 
beyond  that  of  beauty.  The  Society  here  were  sufficiently 
eager  to  have  me  as  their  minister,  and,  I  think,  would 

fortune.  It  is  not  a  legacy,  but  a 
gift.  The  circumstances  are  thus 
expressed  by  himself  in  a  letter  of 
the  30th  January :  "  I  received  an  in- 
vitation from  Shrewsbury  to  be  the 
Unitarian  minister,  and  at  the  same 
time  an  order  for  £100  from  Thomas 
and  Josiah  Wedgwood.  I  accepted 
the  former  and  returned  the  latter 
in  a  long  letter  explanatory  of  my 
motive,  and  went  off  to  Shrewsbury, 
where  they  were  on  the  point  of 
electing  me  unanimously  and  with 
unusual  marks  of  affection,  where  I 
received  an  offer  from  T.  and  J. 
Wedgwood  of  an  annuity  of  £150 
to  be  legally  settled  on  me.  Aston- 
ished, agitated,  and  feeling  as  I 
could  not  help  feeling,  I  accepted 
the  offer  in  the  same  worthy  spirit, 
I  hope,  in  which  it  was  made,  and 
this  morning  I  have  returned  from 
Shrewsbury."  This  letter  was  writ- 
ten in  a  great  hurry  in  Cottle's  shop 
in  Bristol,  in  answer  to  one  which  a 
friend  of  mine  had  left  for  him  there, 
on  his  way  from  Llyswen  to  Gosport, 


and  you  will  perceive  that  it  has  a 
dash  of  the  obscure  not  uncommon 
to  the  rapid  genius  of  C.  Whether 
he  did  or  did  not  accept  the  cure  of 
Unitarian  Souls,  it  is  difficult  from 
the  account  to  make  out.  I  suppose 
he  did  not,  for  I  know  his  aversion 
tg_jgreaching  God's  holy  word  .for 
hire,  which  is  seconded  not  a  little,  I 
expect,  by  his  repugnance  to  all  reg- 
ular routine  and  application.  I  also 
hope  he  did  not,  for  I  know  he  can- 
not preach  very  often  without  travel- 
ling from  the  pulpit  to  the  Tower. 
Mount  him  but  upon  his  darling 
hobby-horse,  "  the  republic  of  God's 
own  making,"  and  away  he  goes  like 
hey-go-mad,  spattering  and  splash- 
ing through  thick  and  thin  and  scat- 
tering more  levelling  sedition  and 
constructive  treason  than  poor  Gilly 
or  myself  ever  dreamt  of.  He 
promised  to  write  to  me  again  in  a 
few  days ;  but,  though  I  answered  his 
letter  directly,  I  have  not  heard  from 
him  since. 


236  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [JAN. 

have  behaved  kindly  and  respectfully,  but  I  perceive 
clearly  that  without  great  courier  :m<l  perseveranee  in  tin- 
use  of  the  monosyllable  No  !  I  should  have  been  plunged  in 
a  very  Maelstrom  of  visiting  —  whirled  round,  and  round, 
and  round,  never  changing  yet  always  moving.  Visiting 
with  all  its  pomp  and  vanities  is  the  mania  of  the  place  ; 
and  many  of  the  congregation  are  both  rich  and  expensive. 
I  met  a  young  man,  a  Cambridge  undergraduate.  Talk- 
ing of  plays,  etc.,  he  told  me  that  an  acquaintance  of  his 
was  printing  a  translation  of  one  of  Kot/ehue's  Ini^cdirs, 
entitled,  "  Benyowski."  1  The  name  startled  me,  and  upon 
examination  I  found  that  the  story  of  my  "  Siberian 
Exiles  "  has  been  already  dramatized.  If  Kotzebue  has 
exhibited  no  greater  genius  in  it  than  in  his  negro  slaves, 
I  shall  consider  this  as  an  unlucky  circumstance ;  but  the 
young  man  speaks  enthusiastically  of  its  merits.  I  have 
just  read  the  "  Castle  Spectre,"  and  shall  bring  it  home 
with  me.  I  will  begin  with  its  defects,  in  order  that  my 
"  But "  may  have  a  charitable  transition.  1.  Language  ; 
2.  Character ;  3.  Passion ;  4.  Sentiment ;  5.  Conduct. 
(1.)  Of  styles,  some  are  pleasing  durably  and  on  reflec- 
tion, some  only  in  transition,  and  some  are  not  pleasing  at 
all ;  and  to  this  latter  class  belongs  the  "  Castle  Spectre."  2 
There  are  no  felicities  in  the  humorous  passages  ;  and  in 
the  serious  ones  it  is  Schiller  Lewis-ized,  that  is,  a  flat, 
flabby,  unimaginative  bombast  oddly  sprinkled  with  col- 
loquialisms. (2.)  No  character  at  all.  The  author  in  a 
postscript  lays  claim  to  novelty  in  one  of  his  characters, 
that  of  Hassan.  Now  Hassan  is  a  negro,  who  had  a 
warm  and  benevolent  heart;  but  linvin^  hern  l<i<ln:ipped 
from  his  country  and  barbarously  used  by  the  Christians, 
becomes  a  misanthrope.  This  is  all ! !  (3.)  Passion  — 

1  Count   Senyowsky,   or   the    Con-  veraity  of  Cambridge.     Cambridge, 

spiracy  of  Kamtschatka,   a    Tragi-  1708. 

comedy.     Translated  from  the  Ger-  2  Coleridge's  copy  of  Monk  Lewis' 

man  by  the  Rev.  W.  Render,  teacher  play  is  dated  January  20,  1708. 

of  the  German  Language  in  the  Uni-  , , 


1798]  TO  WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH  237 

horror  !  agonizing  pangs  of  conscience  !  Dreams  full  of 
hell,  serpents,  and  skeletons  ;  starts  and  attempted  mur- 
ders, etc.,  but  positively,  not  one  line  that  marks  even  a 
superficial  knowledge  of  human  feelings  could  I  discover. 
(4.)  Sentiments  are  moral  and  humorous.  There  is  a 
book  called  the  "  Frisky  Songster,"  at  the  end  of  which 
are  two  chapters  :  the  first  containing  frisky  toasts  and 
sentiments,  the  second,  "  Moral  Toasts,"  and  from  these 
chapters  I  suspect  Mr.  Lewis  has  stolen  all  his  sentimen- 
tality, moral  and  humorous.  A  very  fat  friar,  renowned 
for  gluttony  and  lubricity,  furnishes  abundance  of  jokes 
(all  of  them  abdominal  vel  si  quid  infra),  jokes  that  would 
have  stunk,  had  they  been  fresh,  and  alas  !  they  have  the 
very  sceva  mephitis  of  antiquity  on  them.  But  (5.)  the 
Conduct  of  the  Piece  is,  I  think,  good  ;  except  that  the 
first  act  is  wholly  taken  up  with  explanation  and  narra- 
tion. This  play  proves  how  accurately  you  conjectured 
concerning  theatric  merit.  The  merit  of  the  "  Castle 
Spectre  "  consists  wholly  in  its  situations.  These  are  all 
borrowed  and  all  absolutely  pantomimical ;  but  they  are 
admirably  managed  for  stage  effect.  There  is  not  much 
bustle,  but  situations  for  ever.  The  whole  plot,  machinery, 
and  incident  are  borrowed.  The  play  is  a  mere  patch- 
work of  plagiarisms ;  but  they  are  very  well  worked  up, 
and  for  stage  effect  make  an  excellent  whole.  There  is  a 
pretty  little  ballad-song  introduced,  and  Lewis,  I  think  has 
great  and  peculiar  excellence  in  these  compositions.  The 
simplicity  and  naturalness  is  his  own,  and  not  imitated ; 
for  it  is  made  to  subsist  in  congruity  with  a  language 
perfectly  modern,  the  language  of  his  own  times,  in  the 
same  way  that  the  language  of  the  writer  of  "  Sir 
Cauline  "  was  the  language  of  his  times.  This,  I  think, 
a  rare  merit :  at  least,  I  find,  /  cannot  attain  this  inno- 
cent nakedness,  except  by  assumption.  I  resemble  the 
Duchess  of  Kingston,  who  masqueraded  in  the  character 
of  "Eve  before  the  Fall,"  in  flesh-coloured  Silk.  This 


238  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [APRIL 

play  struck  me  with  utter  hopelessness.  It  would  [be 
easy]  to  produce  these  situations,  but  not  in  a  play  so 
[constructed]  as  to  admit  the  permanent  and  closest 
beauties  of  style,  passion,  and  character.  To  admit  panto- 
mimic tricks,  the  plot  itself  must  be  pantomimic.  Harle- 
quin cannot  be  had  unaccompanied  by  the  Fool. 

I  hope  to  be  with  you  by  the  middle  of  next  week.  I 
must  stay  over  next  Sunday,  as  Mr.  Row  is  obliged  to  go 
to  Bristol  to  seek  a  house.  He  and  his  family  are  honest, 
sensible,  pleasant  people.  My  kind  love  to  Dorothy,  and 
believe  me,  with  affectionate  esteem,  yours  sincerely, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE.1 


LXXIX.     TO   JOSEPH   COTTLE. 

STOWEY,  March  8,  1798. 

MY  DEAR  COTTLE,  —  I  have  been  confined  to  my  bed 
for  some  days  through  a  fever  occasioned  by  the  stump  of 
a  tooth.  ...  I  thank  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  your  late 
kindness,  and  in  a  few  weeks  will  either  repay  you  in 
money  or  by  verses,  as  you  like.  With  regard  to  Lloyd's 
verses,  it  is  curious  that  /should  be  applied  to  to  be  "  per- 
suaded to  resign,  and  in  hope  that  I  might "  consent  to  give 
up  a  number  of  poems  which  were  published  at  the  earnest 
request  of  the  author,  who  assured  me  that  the  circum- 
stance was  "  of  no  trivial  import  to  his  happiness."  Times 
change  and  people  change ;  but  let  us  keep  our  souls  in 
quietness !  I  have  no  objection  to  any  disposal  of  C. 
Lloyd's  poems,  except  that  of  their  being  republished  with 
mine.  The  motto  which  I  had  prefixed,  "  Duplex,"  etc.,2 
from  Groscollius,  has  placed  me  in  a  ridiculous  situation ; 
but  it  was  a  foolish  and  presumptuous  start  of  affection- 

1  The  following  memoranda,  pre-  "  The  sun's  course  is  short,    but 

sumably  in  Wordsworth's  handwrit-  clear  and  blue  the  sky." 

ing,    have   been    scribbled    on  the  2  "  Duplex  nobis  vinculum,  et  ami- 

outside  sheet  of  the  letter  :  "  Tea  citiae  et  similium  junctarumque  Ca- 

—  Thread    fine  —  needles    Silks  —  moenarum  ;  quod  utinam  neque  mors 

Strainer  for  starch  —  Mustard  —  Ba-  sol  vat,  neque  temporis  longinquitas. ' ' 
sil's  shoes  —  Shoe  horn. 


1798]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  239 

ateness,  and  I  am  not  unwilling  to  incur  punishments  due 
to  my  folly.  By  past  experiences  we  build  up  our  moral 
being.  How  comes  it  that  I  have  never  heard  from  dear 
Mr.  Estlin,  my  fatherly  and  brotherly  friend  ?  This  idea 
haunted  me  through  my  sleepless  nights,  till  my  sides  were 
sore  in  turning  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if  I  were  hoping 
to  turn  from  the  idea.  The  Giant  Wordsworth  —  God 
love  him  !  Even  when  I  speak  in  the  terms  of  admira- 
tion due  to  his  intellect,  I  fear  lest  those  terms  should 
keep  out  of  sight  the  amiableness  of  his  manners.  .  .  . 
He  has  written  more  than  1,200  lines  of  a  blank  verse, 
superior,  I  hesitate  not  to  aver,  to  anything  in  our  lan- 
guage which  any  way  resembles  it.  Poole  (whom  I  feel 
so  consolidated  with  myself  that  I  seem  to  have  no  occa- 
sion to  speak  of  him  out  of  myself)  thinks  of  it  as  likely 
to  benefit  mankind  much  more  than  anything  Wordsworth 
has  yet  written.  With  regard  to  my  poems,  I  shall  pre- 
fix the  "  Maid  of  Orleans,"  1,000  lines,  and  three  blank 
verse  poems,  making  all  three  about  200,  and  I  shall  ut- 
terly leave  out  perhaps  a  larger  quantity  of  lines ;  and  I 
should  think  it  would  answer  to  you  in  a  pecuniary  way  to 
print  the  third  edition  humbly  and  cheaply.  My  altera- 
tions in  the  "  Religious  Musings  "  will  be  considerable,  and 
will  lengthen  the  poem.  Oh,  Poole  desires  you  not  to 
mention  his  house  to  any  one  unless  you  hear  from  him 
again,  as  since  I  have  been  writing  a  thought  has  struck 
us  of  letting  it  to  an  inhabitant  of  the  village,  which  we 
should  prefer,  as  we  should  be  certain  that  his  manners 
would  be  severe,  inasmuch  as  he  would  be  a  Stow-ic. 
God  bless  you  and 

S.  T.  C. 

LXXX.    TO   THE   REV.    GEORGE   COLERIDGE. 

April,  1798. 

MY  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  An  illness,  which  confined  me 
to  my  bed,  prevented  me  from  returning  an  immediate 


240  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [APRIL 

answer  to  .your  kind  and  interesting  letter.  My  indispo- 
sition originated  in  the  stump  of  a  tooth  over  which  some 
matter  had  formed;  this  affected  my  eye,  my  eye  my 
stomach,  my  stomach  my  head,  and  the  consequence  was 
a  general  fever,  and  the  sum  of  pain  was  considerably  in- 
creased by  the  vain  attempts  of  our  surgeon  to  extract  the 
offending  member.  Laudanum  gave  me  repose,  not  sleep ; 
but  you,  I  believe,  know  how  divine  that  repose  is,  what  a 
spot  of  enchantment,  a  green  spot  of  fountain  and  flowers 
and  trees  in  the  very  heart  of  a  waste  of  sands !  God  be 
praised,  the  matter  has  been  absorbed ;  and  I  am  now  re- 
covering apace,  and  enjoy  that  newness  of  sensation  from 
the  fields,  the  air,  and  the  sun  which  makes  convalescence 
almost  repay  one  for  disease.  I  collect  from  your  letter 
that  our  opinions  and  feelings  on  political  subjects  are 
more  nearly  alike  than  you  imagine  them  to  be.  Equally 
with  you  (and  perhaps  with  a  deeper  conviction,  for  my 
belief  is  founded  on  actual  experience) ,  equally  with  you  I 
deprecate  the  moral  and  intellectual  habits  of  those  men, 
both  in  England  and  France,  who  have  modestly  assumed 
to  themselves  the  exclusive  title  of  Philosophers  and 
Friends  of  Freedom.  I  think  them  at  least  as  distant  from 
greatness  as  from  goodness.  If  I  know  my  own  opinions, 
they  are  utterly  untainted  with  French  metaphysics,  French 
politics,  French  ethics,  and  French  theology.  As  to  the 
^Rulers  of  France,  I  see  in  their  views,  speeches,  and  ac- 
tions nothing  that  distinguishes  them  to  their  advantage 
from  other  animals  of  the  same  species.  History  has 
taught  me  that  rulers  are  much  the  same  in  all  ages,  and 
under  all  forms  of  government ;  they  are  as  bad  as  they 
-dare  to  be.  The  vanity  of  ruin  and  the  curse  of  blindness 
have  clung  to  them  like  an  hereditary  leprosy.  Of  the 
French  Revolution  I  can  give  my  thoughts  most  ade- 
quately in  the  words  of  Scripture :  "  A  great  ancl  strong 
wind  rent  the  mountains,  and  brake  in  pieces  the  rocks 
before  the  Lord ;  but  the  Lord  was  not  in  the  wind ;  and 


1798]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  241 

after  the  wind  an  earthquake  ;  and  after  the  earthquake  a 
fire  ;  and  the  Lord  was  not  in  the  fire  ;  "  and  now  (believ- 
ing that  no  calamities  are  permitted  but  as  the  means  of 
good)  I  wrap  my  face  in  my  mantle  and  wait,  with  a  sub- 
dued and  patient  thought,  expecting  to  hear  "the  still 
small  voice  "  which  is  of  God.  In  America  (I  have  re- 
ceived my  information  from  unquestionable  authority)  the 
morals  and  domestic  habits  of  the  people  are  daily  deteri- 
orating ;  and  one  good  consequence  which  I  expect  from 
revolution  is  that  individuals  will  see  the  necessity  of  indi- 
vidual effort  ;  that  they  will  act  as  good  Christians,  rather 
than  as  citizens  and  electors  ;  and  so  by  degrees  will  purge 
off  that  error,  which  to  me  appears  as  wild  and  more  per- 


nicious than  the  Trdy^pva-ov  and  panacea  of  the  alchemists, 
the  error  of  attributing  to  governments  a  talismanic  influ- 
ence over  our  virtues  and  our  happiness,  as  if  governments 
were  not  rather  effects  than  causes.  It  is  true  that  all  ef- 
fects react  and  become  causes,  and  so  it  must  be  in  some 
degree  with  governments  ;  but  there  are  other  agents  which 
act  more  powerfully  because  by  a  nigher  and  more  contin- 
uous agency,  and  it  remains  true  that  governments  are 
more  the  effect  than  the  cause  of  that  which  we  are.  Do 
not  therefore,  my  brother,  consider  me  as  an  enemy  to 
government  and  its  rulers,  or  as  one  who  says  they  are 
evil.  I  do  not  say  so.  In  my  opinion  it  were  a  species  of 
blasphemy  !  Shall  a  nation  of  drunkards  presume  to  bab- 
ble against  sickness  and  the  headache  ?  I  regard  govern- 
ments as  I  regard  the  abscesses  produced  by  certain  fevers 
—  they  are  necessary  consequences  of  the  disease,  and  by 
their  pain  they  increase  the  disease  ;  but  yet  they  are  in 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  Nature,  and  not  only  are  they 
physically  necessary  as  effects,  but  also  as  causes  they  are 
morally  necessary  in  order  to  prevent  the  utter  dissolution 
of  the  patient.  But  what  should  we  think  of  a  man  who 
expected  an  absolute  cure  from  an  ulcer  that  only  pre- 
vented his  dying.  Of  guilt  I  say  nothing,  but  I  believe 


242  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [APRIL 

most  steadfastly  in  original  sin ;  that  from  our  mothers' 
wombs  our  understandings  are  darkened ;  and  even  where 
our  understandings  are  in  the  light,  that  our  organization 
is  depraved  and  our  volitions  imperfect;  and  we  some- 
times see  the  good  without  wishing  to  attain  it,  and  of- 
tener  wish  it  without  the  energy  that  wills  and  performs. 
And  for  this  inherent  depravity  I  believe  that  the  spirit 
of  the  Gospel  is  the  sole  cure  ;  but  permit  me  to  add,  that 
I  look  for  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel  "  neither  in  the  moun- 
tain, nor  at  Jerusalem." 

You  think,  my  brother,  that  there  can  be  but  two  par- 
ties at  present,  for  the  Government  and  against  the  Gov- 
ernment. It  may  be  so.  I  am  of  no  party.  It  is  true  I 
think  the  present  Ministry  weak  and  unprincipled  men  ; 
but  I  would  not  with  a  safe  conscience  vote  for  their 
removal ;  I  could  point  out  no  substitutes.  I  think  very 
seldom  on  the  subject ;  but  as  far  as  I  have  thought,  I  am 
inclined  to  consider  the  aristocrats  as  the  most  respec- 
table of  our  three  factions,  because  they  are  more  decorous. 
The  Opposition  and  the  Democrats  are  not  only  vicious, 
they  wear  foe,  filthy  garments  of  vice. 

He  that  takes 

Deep  in  his  soft  credulity  the  stamp 
Design'd  by  loud  declaimers  on  the  part 
Of  liberty,  themselves  the  slaves  of  lust, 
Incurs  derision  for  his  easy  faith 
And  lack  of  knowledge,  and  with  cause  enough : 
For  when  was  public  virtue  to  be  found 
Where  private  was  not  ?     Can  he  love  the  whole 
Who  loves  no  part  ?     He  be  a  nation's  friend, 
Who  is,  in  truth,  the  friend  of  no  man  there  ? 
Can  he  be  strenuous  in  his  country's  cause 
Who  slights  the  charities,  for  whose  dear  sake 
That  country,  if  at  all,  must  be  belov'd  ? 

COWPEB.1 

I  am  prepared  to  suffer  without  discontent  the  conse- 
quences of  my  follies  and  mistakes ;  and  unable  to  con- 

1  The  Task,  Book  V.,  "  A  Winter's  Morning  Walk." 


1798]  TO  GEORGE  COLERIDGE  243 

ceive  how  that  which  I  am  of  Good  could  have  been 
without  that  which  I  have  been  of  evil,  it  is  withheld  from 
me  to  regret  anything.  I  therefore  consent  to  be  deemed 
a  Democrat  and  a  Seditionist.  A  man's  character  follows 
him  long  after  he  has  ceased  to  deserve  it ;  but  I  have 
snapped  my  squeaking  baby-trumpet  of  sedition,  and  the 
fragments  lie  scattered  in  the  lumber-room  of  penitence. 
I  wish  to  be  a  good  man  and  a  Christian,  but  I  am  no 
Whig,  no  Reformist,  no  Republican,  and  because  of  the 
multitude  of  fiery  and  undisciplined  spirits  that  lie  in 
wait  against  the  public  quiet  under  these  titles,  because 
of  them  I  chiefly  accuse  the  present  ministers,  to  whose 
folly  I  attribute,  in  a  great  measure,  their  increased  and 
increasing  numbers.  You  think  differently,  and  if  I  were 
called  upon  by  you  to  prove  my  assertions,  although  I 
imagine  I  could  make  them  appear  plausible,  yet  I  should 
feel  the  insufficiency  of  my  data.  The  Ministers  may 
have  had  in  their  possession  facts  which  alter  the  whole 
state  of  the  argument,  and  make  my  syllogisms  fall  as 
flat  as  a  baby's  card-house.  And  feeling  this,  my  brother ! 
I  have  for  some  time  past  withdrawn  myself  totally  from 
the  consideration  of  immediate  causes,  which  are  infi- 
nitely complex  and  uncertain,  to  muse  on  fundamental 
and  general  causes  the  "  causaB  causarum."  I  devote 
myself  to  such  works  as  encroach  not  on  the  anti-social 
passions  —  in  poetry,  to  elevate  the  imagination  and  set 
the  affections  in  right  tune  by  the  beauty  of  the  inani- 
mate impregnated  as  with  a  living  soul  by  the  presence  of 
life  —  in  prose  to  the  seeking  with  patience  and  a  slow, 
very  slow  mind,  "  Quid  sumus,  et  quidnam  victuri  gigni- 
mus,"  —  what  our  faculties  are  and  what  they  are  capable 
of  becoming.  I  love  fields  and  woods  and  mountains 
with  almost  a  visionary  fondness.  And  because  I  have 
found  benevolence  and  quietness  growing  within  me  as 
that  fondness  has  increased,  therefore  I  should  wish  to  be 
the  means  of  implanting  it  in  others,  and  to  destroy  the 


244  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [MAY 

bad  passions  not  by  combating  them  but  by  keeping  them 
in  inaction. 

Not  useless  do  I  deem 

These  shadowy  sympathies  with  things  that  hold 
An  inarticulate  Language  ;  for  the  Man  — 
Once  taught  to  love  such  objects  as  excite 
No  morbid  passions,  no  disquietude, 
No  vengeance,  and  no  hatred  —  needs  must  feel 
The  joy  of  that  pure  principle  of  love 
So  deeply,  that,  unsatisfied  with  aught 
Less  pure  and  exquisite,  he  cannot  choose 
But  seek  for  objects  of  a  kindred  love 
In  fellow-nature  and  a  kindred  joy. 
Accordingly  he  by  degrees  perceives 
His  feelings  of  aversion  softened  down  ; 
A  holy  tenderness  pervade  his  frame  ! 
His  sanity  of  reason  not  impair'd, 
Say,  rather,  that  his  thoughts  now  flowing  clear 
From  a  clear  fountain  flowing,  he  looks  round, 
He  seeks  for  good ;  and  finds  the  good  he  seeks. 

WORDSWORTH.! 

I  have  laid  down  for  myself  two  maxims,  and,  what  is 
more  I  am  in  the  habit  of  regulating  myself  by  them. 
With  regard  to  others,  I  never  controvert  opinions  except 
after  some  intimacy,  and  when  alone  with  the  person,  and 
at  the  happy  time  when  we  both  seem  awake  to  our  own 
fallibility,  and  then  I  rather  state  my  reasons  than  argue 
against  his.  In  general  conversation  to  find  out  the 
opinions  common  to  us,  or  at  least  the  subjects  on  which 
difference  of  opinion  creates  no  uneasiness,  such  as 
novels,  poetry,  natural  scenery,  local  anecdotes,  and  (in  a 
serious  mood  and  with  serious  men)  the  general  evidences 
of  our  religion.  With  regard  to  myself,  it  is  my  habit, 
on  whatever  subject  I  think,  to  endeavour  to  discover  all 
the  good  that  has  resulted  from  it,  that  does  result,  or 
that  can  result.  To  this  I  bind  down  my  mind,  and  after 
long  meditation  in  this  tract  slowly  and  gradually  make 

1  A  later  version  of  these  lines  is     fourth   book  of    "  The  Excursion." 
to  be    found   at  the    close   of    the     Works  of  Wordsworth,  1889,  p.  467. 


1798]  TO  J.  P.  ESTLIN  245 

up  my  opinions  on  the  quantity  and  nature  of  the  evil.  I 
consider  this  as  the  most  important  rule  for  the  regulation 
of  the  intellect  and  the  affections,  as  the^  only  means  of 
preventing^hejpassions^from  turning_reasoji  into  a  hired  / 
advocate.  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness,  and  propose  in 
a  short  time  to  walk  down  to  you  :  but  my  wife  must  forego 
the  thought,  as  she  is  within  five  or  six  weeks  of  lying-in. 
She  and  my  child,  whose  name  is  David  Hartley,  are 
remarkably  well.  You  will  give  my  duty  to  my  mother, 
and  love  to  my  brothers,  to  Mrs.  S.  and  G.  Coleridge. 

Excuse  my  desultory  style  and  illegible  scrawl,  for  I 
have  written  you  a  long  letter,  you  see,  and  am  in  truth 
too  weary  to  write  a  fair  copy  of  it,  or  rearrange  my 
ideas,  and  I  am  anxious  you  should  know  me  as  I  am. 

God  bless  you,  from  your  affectionate  brother, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LXXXI.    TO   REV.   J.   P.    ESTLIN.1 

May  [?  1798]. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  write  from  Cross,  to  which  place 
I  accompanied  Mr.  Wordsworth,  who  will  give  you  this 

1  In  the  series  of  letters  to  Dr.  quarrel  with  Lloyd,  and  consequent 

Estlin,  contributed  to  the  privately  distress  of  mind,  -with  the  retirement 

printed    volumes    of    the    Philobi-  to  "the  lonely  farm-house,"  and  a 

blon  Society,  the  editor,  Mr.  Henry  first  recourse  to  opium.     If,  as  the 

A.  Bright,   dates    this    letter   May  letters  intimate,  these  events  must 

(?  1797).  A  comparison  with  a  second  be  assigned  to  May,  1798,  it  follows 

letter  to  Estlin.  dated  May  14,  1798  that  "  Kubla  Khan  "  was  written  at 

(Letter  LXXXIL),  with  a  letter  to  the  same  time,  and  not,  as  Coleridge 

Poole,  dated  May  28,  1798  (Letter  maintained  in  the  Preface  of  1816, 

LXXXIV.),  with  a  letter  to  Charles  "  in  the  summer  of  1797." 
Lamb   belonging  to   the  spring    of         It  would,  indeed,  have  been  alto- 

1798  (Letter  LXXXV.),  and  with  an  gether  miraculous  if,  before  he  had 

entry  in  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  jour-  written  a  line    of  "  Christabel,"  or 

nal  for  May  16, 1798,  affords  convin-  "  The  Ancient  Mariner,"  either  in  an 

cing  proof  that  the  date  of  the  letter  actual  dream,  or  a  dreamlike  reverie, 

should  be  May,  1798.  it  had  been  ' '  given  to  him  "  to  divine 

The  MS.  note  of  November  10,  the  enchanting  images  of  "Kubla 
1810,  to  which  a  previous  reference  Khan,"  or  attune  his  mysterious  vis- 
has  been  made,  connects  a  serious  ion  to  consummate  melody. 


246  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [MAY 

letter.  We  visited  Cheddar,  but  his  main  business  was  to 
bring  back  poor  Lloyd,  whose  infirmities  have  been  made 
the  instruments  of  another  man's  darker  passions.  But 
Lloyd  (as  we  found  by  a  letter  that  met  us  in  the  road) 
is  off  for  Birmingham.  Wordsworth  proceeds,  lest  possi- 
bly Lloyd  may  not  be  gone,  and  likewise  to  see  his  own 
Bristol  friends,  as  he  is  so  near  them.  I  have  now  known 
him  a  year  and  some  months,  and  my  admiration,  I  might 
say  my  awe,  of  his  intellectual  powers  has  increased  even 
to  this  hour,  and  (what  is  of  more  importance)  he  is  a 
tried  good  man.  On  one  subject  we  are  habitually  silent ; 
we  found  our  data  dissimilar,  and  never  renewed  the  sub- 
ject. It  is  his  practice  and  almost  his  nature  to  convey 
all  the  truth  he  knows  without  any  attack  on  what  he  sup- 
poses falsehood,  if  that  falsehood  be  interwoven  with  vir- 
tues or  happiness.  He  loves  and  venerates  Christ  and 
Christianity.  I  wish  he  did  more,  but  it  were  wrong  in- 
deed if  an  incoincidence  with  one  of  our  wishes  altered 
our  respect  and  affection  to  a  man  of  whom  we  are,  as  it 
were,  instructed  by  one  great  Master  to  say  that  not  being 
against  us  he  is  for  us.  His  genius  is  most  apparent  in 
poetry,  and  rarely,  except  to  me  in  tete-a-tete,  breaks  forth 
in  conversational  eloquence.  My  best  and  most  affection- 
ate wishes  attend  Mrs.  Estlin  and  your  little  ones,  and  be- 
lieve me,  with  filial  and  fraternal  friendship,  your  grateful 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 
REV.  J.  P.  ESTLIN, 

St.  Michael's  Hill,  Bristol. 

LXXXII.    TO  THE   SAME. 

Monday,  May  14,  1798. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  ought  to  have  written  to  you 
before ;  and  have  done  very  wrong  in  not  writing.  But  I 
have  had  many  sorrows  and  some  that  bite  deep ;  calumny 
and  ingratitude  from  men  who  have  been  fostered  in  the 
bosom  of  my  confidence !  I  pray  God  that  I  may  sanctify 


1798]  TO  J.  P.  ESTLIN  247 

these  events  by  forgiveness  and  a  peaceful  spirit  full  of 
love.  This  morning,  half-past  one,  my  wife  was  safely 
delivered  of  a  fine  boy ; l  she  had  a  remarkably  good  time, 
better  if  possible  than  her  last,  and  both  she  and  the  child 
are  as  well  as  can  be.  By  the  by,  it  is  only  three  in  the 
morning  now.  I  walked  in  to  Taunton  and  back  again, 
and  performed  the  divine  services  for  Dr.  Toulmin.  I 
suppose  you  must  have  heard  that  his  daughter,  in  a  mel- 
ancholy derangement,  suffered  herself  to  be  swallowed  up 
by  the  tide  on  the  sea-coast  between  Sidmouth  and  Bere. 
These  events  cut  cruelly  into  the  hearts  of  old  men ;  but 
the  good  Dr.  Toulmin  bears  it  like  the  true  practical 
Christian,  —  there  is  indeed  a  tear  in  his  eye,  but  that  eye 
is  lifted  up  to  the  Heavenly  Father.  I  have  been  too  neg- 
lectful of  practical  religion  —  I  mean,  actual  and  stated 
prayer,  and  a  regular  perusal  of  scripture  as  a  morning 
and  evening  duty.  May  God  grant  me  grace  to  amend 
this  error,  for  it  is  a  grievous  one !  Conscious  of  frailty  I 
almost  wish  (I  say  it  confidentially  to  you)  that  I  had  be- 
come a  stated  minister,  for  indeed  I  find  true  joy  after  a 
sincere  prayer ;  but  for  want  of  habit  my  mind  wanders, 
and  I  cannot  pray  as  often  as  I  ought.  Thanksgiving  is 
pleasant  in  the  performance ;  but  prayer  and  distinct  con- 
fession I  find  most  serviceable  to  my  spiritual  health  when 
I  can  do  it.  But  though  all  my  deubtg  top  done  away, 
though  Christianity  is  my  passion,  it  is  too  much  my 
intellectual  passion,  and  therefore  will  do*  me  but  little 
good  in  the  hour  of  temptation  and  calamity. 

My  love  to  Mrs.  E.  and  the  dear  little  ones,  and  ever, 
O  ever,  believe  me,  with  true  affection  and  gratitude, 
Your  filial  friend,  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

1  Berkeley  Coleridge,  born  May  14,  1798,  died  February  10,  1799. 


248  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [MAY 


LXXXIII.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

Monday,  May  14,  1798. 
Morning,  10  o'clock. 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND,  —  I  have  been  sitting  many 
minutes  with  my  pen  in  my  hand,  full  of  prayers  and 
wishes  for  you,  and  the  house  of  affliction  in  which  you 
have  so  trying  a  part  to  sustain  —  but  I  know  not  what 
to  write.  May  God  support  you  !  May  he  restore  your 
brother  —  but  above  all,  I  pray  that  he  will  make  us  able 
to  cry  out  with  a  fervent  sincerity :  Thy  will  be  done  ! 
I  have  had  lately  some  sorrows  that  have  cut  more  deeply 
into  my  heart  than  they  ought  to  have  done,  and  I  have 
found  religion,  and  commonplace  religion  too,  my  re- 
storer and  my  comfort,  giving  me  gentleness  and  calm- 
ness and  dignity  !  Again  and  again,  may  God  be  with 
you,  my  best,  dear  friend !  and  believe  me,  my  Poole  ! 
dearer,  to  my  understanding  and  affections  unitedly,  than 
all  else  in  the  world  ! 

It  is  almost  painful  and  a  thing  of  fear  to  tell  you  that 
I  have  another  boy ;  it  will  bring  upon  your  mind  the  too 
affecting  circumstance  of  poor  Mrs.  Richard  Poole  !  The 
prayers  which  I  have  offered  for  her  have  been  a  relief 
to  my  own  mind ;  I  would  that  they  could  have  been  a 
consolation  to  her.  Scripture  seems  to  teach  us  that  our 
fervent  prayers  are  not  without  efficacy,  even  for  others  ; 
and  though  my  reason  is  perplexed,  yet  my  internal  feel- 
ings impel  me  to  a  humble  faith,  that  it  is  possible  and 
consistent  with  the  divine  attributes. 

Poor  Dr.  Toulmin !  he  bears  his  calamity  like  one  in 
whom  a  faith  through  Jesus  is  the  Habit  of  the  whole 
man,  of  his  affections  still  more  than  of  his  convictions. 
The  loss  of  a  dear  child  in  so  frightful  a  way  cuts  cruelly 
with  an  old  man,  but  though  there  is  a  tear  and  an 
anguish  in  his  eye,  that  eye  is  raised  to  heaven. 

Sara  was  safely  delivered  at  half  past  one  this  morning 


1898]  TO  CHARLES  LAMB  249 

—  the  boy  is  already  almost  as  large  as  Hartley.  She 
had  an  astonishingly  good  time,  better  if  possible  than 
her  last ;  and  excepting  her  weakness,  is  as  well  as  ever. 
The  child  is  strong  and  shapely,  and  has  the  paternal 
beauty  in  his  upper  lip.  God  be  praised  for  all  things. 
Your  affectionate  and  entire  friend, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LXXXIV.    TO   THE   SAME. 

Sunday  evening-  [May  20,  1798]. 

MY  DEAREST  POOLE,  —  I  was  all  day  yesterday  in  a 
distressing  perplexity  whether  or  no  it  would  be  wise  or 
consolatory  for  me  to  call  at  your  house,  or  whether  I 
should  write  to  your  mother,  as  a  Christian  friend,  or 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  wait  for  the  exhaustion 
of  that  grief  which  must  have  its  way. 

So  many  unpleasant  and  shocking  circumstances  have 
happened  to  me  in  my  immediate  knowledge  within  the 
last  fortnight,  that  I  am  in  a  nervous  state,  and  the  most 
trifling  thing  makes  me  weep.  Poor  Richard !  May 
Providence  heal  the  wounds  which  it  hath  seen  good  to 
inflict ! 

Do  you  wish  me  to  see  you  to-day  ?  Shall  I  call  on 
you  ?  Shall  I  stay  with  you  ?  or  had  I  better  leave  you 
uninterrupted  ?  In  all  your  sorrows  as  in  your  joys,  I 
am,  indeed,  my  dearest  Poole,  a  true  and  faithful  sharer ! 

May  God  bless  and  comfort  you  all ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

LXXXV.  TO  CHARLES  LAMB.1 

[Spring  of  1798.] 

DEAR  LAMB,  —  Lloyd  has  informed  me  through  Miss 
Wordsworth  that  you  intend  no  longer  to  correspond  with 

1  The  original  MS.  of  this  letter,  post.  Besides  this,  only  three  of  Cole- 
which  was  preserved  hy  Coleridge,  ridge's  letters  to  Lamb  have  been 
is,  doubtless,  a  copy  of  that  sent  by  preserved,  —  the  "  religious  letter  " 


250  THE  STOWEY  PERIOD  [MAY 

me.  This  has  given  me  little  pain  ;  not  that  I  do  not  love 
and  esteem. you,  but  on  the  contrary  because  I  am  confi- 
dent that  your  intentions  are  pure.  You  are  performing 
what  you  deem  a  duty,  and  humanly  speaking  have  that 
merit  which  can  be  derived  from  the  performance  of  a 
painful  duty.  Painful,  for  you  would  not  without  strug- 
gles abandon  me  in  behalf  of  a  man l  who,  wholly  ignorant 
of  all  but  your  name,  became  attached  to  you  in  conse- 
quence of  my  attachment,  caught  his  from  my  enthusiasm, 
and  learned  to  love  you  at  my  fireside,  when  often  while  I 
have  been  sitting  and  talking  of  your  sorrows  and  afflic- 
tions I  have  stopped  my  conversations  and  lifted  up  wet 
eyes  and  prayed  for  you.  No  !  I  am  confident  that 
although  you  do  not  think  as  a  wise  man,  you  feel  as  a 
good  man. 

From  you  I  have  received  little  pain,  because  for  you 
I  suffer  little  alarm.  I  cannot  say  this  for  your  friend ; 
it  appears  to  me  evident  that  his  feelings  are  vitiated, 
and  that  his  ideas  are  in  their  combination  merely  the 
creatures  of  those  feelings.  I  have  received  letters  from 
him,  and  the  best  and  kindest  wish  which,  as  a  Christian, 
I  can  offer  in  return  is  that  he  may  feel  remorse. 

Some  brief  resentments  rose  in  my  mind,  but  they  did 
not  remain  there ;  for  I  began  to  think  almost  immedi- 
ately, and  my  resentments  vanished.  There  has  resulted 
only  a  sort  of  fantastic  scepticism  concerning  my  own 
consciousness  of  my  own  rectitude.  As  dreams  have  im- 
pressed on  him  the  sense  of  reality,  my  sense  of  reality 
may  be  but  a  dream.  From  his  letters  it  is  plain  that 
he  has  mistaken  the  heat  and  bustle  and  swell  of  self- 
justification  for  the  approbation  of  his  conscience.  I  am 
certain  that  this  is  not  the  case  with  me,  but  the  human 
heart  is  so  wily  and  inventive  that  possibly  it  may  be 

of  1796,  a  letter  concerning  the  quar-  ticulars    of    Hood's    Odes   to    Great 

rel  with  Wordsworth,  of  May,  1812  People). 

[Letter  CLXXXIV.],  and  one  writ-  *•  Charles  Lloyd. 

ten  in  later  life  (undated,  on  the  par- 


1798] 


TO  CHARLES  LAMB 


251 


cheating  me,  who  am  an  older  warrior,  with  some  newer 
stratagem.  When  I  wrote  to  you  that  my  Sonnet  to  Sim- 
plicity1 was  not  composed  with  reference  to  Southey, 
you  answered  me  (I  believe  these  were  the  words) : 
"  It  was  a  lie  too  gross  for  the  grossest  ignorance  to  be- 
lieve ;  "  and  I  was  not  angry  with  you,  because  the  asser- 


1  The  three  sonnets  of  "  Nehemiah 
Higginbottom "  were  published  in 
the  Monthly  Magazine  for  November, 
1797.  Compare  his  letter  to  Cottle 
(E.  E.  i.  289)  which  Mr.  Dykes 
Campbell  takes  to  have  been  written 
at  the  same  time. 

"  I  sent  to  the  Monthly  Magazine, 
three  mock  sonnets  in  ridicule  of 
my  own  Poems,  and  Charles  Lloyd's 
and  Charles  Lamb's,  etc.,  etc.,  expos- 
ing that  affectation  of  unaffected- 
ness,  of  jumping  and  misplaced  ac- 
cent, in  commonplace  epithets,  flat 
lines  forced  into  poetry  by  italics 
(signifying  how  well  and  mouthishly 
the  author  would  read  them),  puny 
pathos,  etc.,  etc.  The  instances  were 
all  taken  from  myself  and  Lloyd 
and  Lamb.  I  signed  them  'Nehe- 
miah Higginbottom.'  I  hope  they 
may  do  good  to  our  young  bards." 

The  publication  of  these  sonnets 
in  November,  1797,  cannot,  as  Mr. 
Dykes  Campbell  points  out  (Poetical 
Works,  p.  599),  have  been  the  imme- 
diate cause  of  the  breach  between 
Coleridge  and  Lamb  which  took 
place  in  the  spring  or  early  summer 
of  1798,  but  it  seems  that  during  the 
rise  and  progress  of  this  quarrel  the 
Sonnet  on  Simplicity  was  the  occa- 
sion of  bitter  and  angry  words.  As 
Lamb  and  Lloyd  and  Southey  drew 
together,  they  drew  away  from  Cole- 
ridge, and  Southey,  who  had  only 
been  formally  reconciled  with  his 
brother-in-law,  seems  to  have  re- 


garded this  sonnet  as  an  ill-natured 
parody  of  his  earlier  poems.  In  a 
letter  to  Wynn,  dated  November  20, 
1797,  he  says,  "  I  am  aware  of  the 
danger  of  studying  simplicity  of 
language,"  and  he  proceeds  to  quote 
some  lines  of  blank  verse  to  prove 
that  he  could  employ  the  "  grand 
style  "  when  he  chose. 

A  note  from  Coleridge  to  Southey, 
posted  December  8, 1797,  deals  with 
the  question,  and  would,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  Lloyd's  "  tittle-tattle," 
have  convinced  both  Southey  and 
Lamb  that  in  the  matter  they  were 
entirely  mistaken. 

I  am  sorry,  Southey!  very  sorry 
that  I  wrote  or  published  those  son- 
nets —  but  '  sorry '  would  be  a  tame 
word  to  express  my  feelings,  if  I  had 
written  them  with  the  motives  which 
you  have  attributed  to  me.  I  have 
not  been  in  the  habit  of  treating  our 
separation  with  levity  —  nor  ever 
since  the  first  moment  thought  of  it 
without  deep  emotion  —  and  how 
could  you  apply  to  yourself  a  sonnet 
written  to  ridicule  infantine  simpli- 
city, vulgar  colloquialisms,  and  lady- 
like friendships  ?  I  have  no  con- 
ception, neither  I  believe  could  a 
passage  in  your  writings  have  sug- 
gested to  me  or  any  man  the  no- 
tion of  your  '  plainting  plaintively.' 
I  am  sorry  that  I  wrote  thus,  be- 
cause I  am  sorry  to  perceive  a  dis- 
position in  you  to  believe  evil  of  me, 


252 


THE  STOWEY  PERIOD 


[MAY 


tion  which  the  grossest  ignorance  would  believe  a  lie  the 
Omniscient  knew  to  be  truth.  This,  however,  makes  me 
cautious  not  too  hastily  to  affirm  the  falsehood  of  an 
assertion  of  Lloyd's  that  in  Edmund  Oliver's l  love-fit, 
leaving  college,  and  going  into  the  army  he  had  no  sort 
of  allusion  to  or  recollection  of  my  love-fit,  leaving  college, 
and  going  into  the  army,  and  that  he  never  thought  of  my 
person  in  the  description  of  Oliver's  person  in  the  first 
letter  of  the  second  volume.  This  cannot  appear  stranger 
to  me  than  my  assertion  did  to  you,  and  therefore  I  will 
suspend  my  absolute  faith. 


of  which  your  remark  to  Charles 
Lloyd  was  a  painful  instance.  I  say 
this  to  you,  because  I  shall  say  it 
to  no  other  being.  I  feel  myself 
wounded  and  hurt  and  write  as  such. 
I  believe  in  my  letter  to  Lloyd  I 
forgot  to  mention  that  the  Editor  of 
the  Morning  Post  is  called  Stuart, 
and  that  he  is  the  brother-in-law  of 
Mackintosh.  Yours  sincerely, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Thursday  morning. 

Post-mark,  Dec.  8,  1797. 
MB.  SOUTHEY,  No.  23  East  Street, 

Red  Lion  Square,  London. 

1  Charles  Lloyd's  novel,  Edmund 
Oliver,  was  published  at  Bristol  in 
1798.  It  is  dedicated  to  "  His  friend 
Charles  Lamb  of  the  India  House." 
He  says  in  the  Preface :  "  The  inci- 
dents relative  to  the  army  were 


malignant  nature  of  the  attack.  "  I 
have  at  all  times  a  strange  dream- 
iness about  me  which  makes  me  in- 
different to  the  future,  if  I  can  by 
any  means  fill  the  present  with  sen- 
sations, —  with  that  dreaminess  I 
have  gone  on  here  from  day  to  day  ; 
if  at  any  time  thought -troubled,  I 
have  swallowed  some  spirits,  or  had 
recourse  to  my  laudanum."  In  the 
same  letter,  the  account  which  Ed- 
mund Oliver  gives  of  his  sensations 
as  a  recruit  in  a  regiment  of  light 
horse,  and  the  vivid  but  repulsive 
picture  which  he  draws  of  his  squalid 
surroundings  in  "a  pot-house  in  the 
Borough,"  leaves  a  like  impression 
that  Coleridge  confided  too  much, 
and  that  Lloyd  remembered  "  not 
wisely  but  too  well."  How  Cole- 
ridge regarded  Lloyd's  malfeasance 


given  me  by  an  intimate  friend  who    may  be  guessed  from  one  of  his  so- 
was  himself  eye-witness  of  one  of    called  epigrams. 

them."  The  general  resemblance  TO  ONE  WHO  PUBLISHED  IN  PRINT  WHAT  HAD 
between  the  events  of  Coleridge's  BEEN  INTRUSTED  TO  HIM  BY  MY  FIRESIDE. 
earlier  history  and  the  story  of  Ed- 
mund Oliver  is  not  very  striking,  but 
apart  from  the  description  of  "his 
person  "  in  the  first  letter  of  the  sec- 
ond volume,  which  is  close  enough, 
a  single  sentence  from  Edmund  Oli- 
ver's journal,  i.  245,  betrays  the 


Two  things  hast  thou  made  known  to  half 

the  nation, 

My  secrets  and  my  want  of  penetration  : 
For  oh  !  far  more  than  all  which  thou  hast 

penned, 
It  shames  me  to  have  called  a  wretch,  like 

thee,  my  friend ! 

Poetical  Works,  p.  448. 


TO   CHARLES  LAMB  253 

I  wrote  to  you  not  that  I  wish  to  hear  from  you,  but 
that  I  wish  you  to  write  to  Lloyd  and  press  upon  him  the 
propriety,  nay  the  necessity,  of  his  giving  me  a  meeting 
either  tete-a-tete  or  in  the  presence  of  all  whose  esteem  I 
value.  This  I  owe  to  my  own  character ;  I  owe  it  to  him  if 
by  any  means  he  may  even  yet  be  extricated.  He  assigned 
as  reasons  for  his  rupture  my  vices  ;  and  he  is  either  right 
or  wrong.  If  right,  it  is  fit  that  others  should  know  it 
and  follow  his  example ;  if  wrong,  he  has  acted  very 
wrong.  At  present,  I  may  expect  everything  from  his 
heated  mind  rather  than  continence  of  language,  and  his 
assertions  will  be  the  more  readily  believed  on  account  of 
his  former  enthusiastic  attachment,  though  with  wise  men 
this  would  cast  a  hue  of  suspicion  over  the  whole  affair  ; 
but  the  number  of  wise  men  in  the  kingdom  would  not 
puzzle  a  savage's  arithmetic  —  you  may  tell  them  in  every 
[community]  on  your  fingers.  I  have  been  unfortunate 
in  my  connections.  Both  you  and  Lloyd  became  ac- 
quainted with  me  when  your  minds  were  far  from  being 
in  a  composed  or  natural  state,  and  you  clothed  my  image 
with  a  suit  of  notions  and  feelings  which  could  belong  to 
nothing  human.  You  are  restored  to  comparative  sane- 
ness,  and  are  merely  wondering  what  is  become  of  the 
Coleridge  with  whom  you  were  so  passionately  in  love  ; 
Charles  Lloyd's  mind  has  only  changed  his  disease,  and 
he  is  now  arraying  his  ci-devant  Angel  in  a  flaming  San 
Benito  —  the  whole  ground  of  the  garment  a  dark  brim- 
stone and  plenty  of  little  devils  flourished  out  in  black. 
Oh,  me !  Lamb,  "  even  in  laughter  the  heart  is  sad  I  "  My 
kindness,  my  affectionateness,  he  deems  wheedling ;  but,  if 
after  reading  all  my  letters  to  yourself  and  to  him,  you 
can  suppose  him  wise  in  his  treatment  and  correct  in  his 
accusations  of  me,  you  think  worse  of  human  nature  than 
poor  human  nature,  bad  as  it  is,  deserves  to  be  thought  of. 
God  bless  you  and  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A  VISIT  TO   GERMANY 

1798-1799 


CHAPTER   IV 

A   VISIT  TO   GERMANY 

1798-1799 

THE  letters  which  Coleridge  wrote  from  Germany  were, 
with  few  exceptions,  addressed  either  to  his  wife  or  to 
Poole.  They  have  never  been  published  in  full,  but  dur- 
ing his  life  and  since  his  death  various  extracts  have 
appeared  in  print.  The  earlier  letters  descriptive  of  his 
voyage,  his  two  visits  to  Hamburg,  his  interviews  with 
Klopstock,  and  his  settlement  at  Ratzeburg  were  published 
as  "  Satyrane's  Letters,"  first  in  November-December, 
1809,  in  Nos.  14,  16,  and  18  of  "The  Friend,"  and  again, 
in  1817,  in  the  "  Biographia  Literaria"  (ii.  183-253). 
Two  extracts  from  letters  to  his  wife,  dated  respectively 
January  14  and  April  8,  1799,  appeared  in  No.  19  of 
"The  Friend,"  December  28,  1809,  as  "Christmas  In- 
doors in  North  Germany,"  and  "  Christmas  Out  of  Doors." 
In  1828,  Coleridge  placed  a  selection  of  unpublished  let- 
ters from  Germany  in  the  hands  of  the  late  S.  C.  Hall, 
who  printed  portions  of  two  (dated  "  Clausthal,  May  17, 
1799")  in  the  "Amulet"  of  1829,  under  the  title  of 
"  Fragments  of  a  Journal  of  a  Tour  over  the  Brocken, 
by  S.  T.  Coleridge."  The  same  extract  is  included  in  Gill- 
man's  "  Life  of  Coleridge,"  pp.  125,  138. 

After  Coleridge's  death,  Mr.  Hall  published  in  the 
"New  Monthly  Magazine"  (1835,  No.  45,  pp.  211-226) 
the  three  last  letters  from  Germany,  dated  May  17,  18, 
and  19,  which  include  the  "  Tour  over  the  Brocken." 
Selections  from  Coleridge's  letters  to  Poole  of  April  8 


258  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [SEPT. 

and  May  6,  1799,  were  published  by  Mrs.  Sandford  in 
"  Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends  "  (i.  295-299),  and  four 
letters  from  Poole  to  Coleridge  are  included  in  the  same 
volume  (pp.  277-294).  A  hitherto  unpublished  letter 
from  Coleridge  to  his  wife,  dated  January  14,  1799,  ap- 
peared in  "The  Illustrated  London  News,"  April  29, 
1893.  For  further  particulars  relative  to  Coleridge's  life 
in  Germany,  see  Carlyon's  "  Early  Years,"  etc.,  1856, 
i.  26-198,  passim,  and  Brandl's  "  Life  of  Coleridge," 
1887,  pp.  230-252. 


LXXXVI.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

September  15,  1798. 

MY  VERY  DEAR  POOLE,  —  We  have  arrived  at  Yar- 
mouth just  in  time  to  be  hurried  into  the  packet  —  and 
four  or  five  letters  of  recommendation  have  been  taken 
away  from  me,  owing  to  their  being  wafered.  Wedg- 
wood's luckily  were  not. 

I  am  at  the  point  of  leaving  my  native  country  for  the 
first  time  —  a  country  which  God  Almighty  knows  is  dear 
to  me  above  all  things  for  the  love  I  bear  to  you.  Of 
many  friends  whom  I  love  and  esteem,  my  head  and  heart 
have  ever  chosen  you  as  the  friend  —  as  the  one  being  in 
whom  is  involved  the  full  and  whole  meaning  of  that 
sacred  title.  God  love  you,  my  dear  Poole  !  and  your 
faithful  and  most  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  We  may  be  only  two  days,  we  may  be  a  fort- 
night going.  The  same  of  the  packet  that  returns.  So  do 
not  let  my  poor  Sara  be  alarmed  if  she  do  not  hear  from 
me.  I  will  write  alternately  to  you  and  her,  twice  every 
week  during  my  absence.  May  God  preserve  us,  and  make 
us  continue  to  be  joy,  and  comfort,  and  wisdom,  and  vir- 
tue to  each  other,  my  dear,  dear  Poole ! 


1798]  TO  HIS  WIFE  259 

LXXXVII.    TO   HIS  WIFE. 

HAMBURG,  September  19,  1798. 

Over  what  place  does  the  moon  hang  to  your  eye,  my 
dearest  Sara  ?  To  me  it  hangs  over  the  left  bank  of  the 
Elbe,  and  a  long  trembling  road  of  moonlight  reaches  from 
thence  up  to  the  stern  of  our  vessel,  and  there  it  ends.  We 
have  dropped  anchor  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  thirty 
miles  from  Cuxhaven,  where  we  arrived  this  morning  at 
eleven  o'clock,  after  an  unusually  fine  passage  of  only 
forty-eight  hours.  The  Captain  agreed  to  take  all  the 
passengers  up  to  Hamburg  for  ten  guineas;  my  share 
amounted  only  to  half  a  guinea.  We  shall  be  there,  if  no 
fogs  intervene,  to-morrow  morning.  Chester  was  ill  the 
whole  voyage  ;  Wordsworth  shockingly  ill ;  his  sister  worst 
of  all,  and  I  neither  sick  nor  giddy,  but  gay  as  a  lark. 
The  sea  rolled  rather  high,  but  the  motion  was  pleasant  to 
me.  The  stink  of  a  sea  cabin  in  a  packet  (what  with  the 
bilge-water,  and  what  from  the  crowd  of  sick  passengers) 
is  horrible.  I  remained  chiefly  on  deck.  We  left  Yar- 
mouth Sunday  morning,  September  16,  at  eleven  o'clock. 
Chester  and  Wordsworth  ill  immediately.  Our  passen- 
gers were  :  $  Wordsworth,  *  Chester,  S.  T.  Coleridge,  a 
Dane,  second  Dane,  third  Dane,  a  Prussian,  a  Hanove- 
rian and  *  his  servant,  a  German  tailor  and  his  *  wife,  a 
French  J  emigrant  and  *  French  servant,  *  two  English 
gentlemen,  and  £  a  Jew.  All  these  with  the  prefix  *  were 
sick,  those  marked  J  horribly  sick.  The  view  of  Yar- 
mouth from  the  sea  is  interesting ;  besides,  it  was  Eng- 
lish ground  that  was  flying  away  from  me.  When  we 
lost  sight  of  land,  the  moment  that  we  quite  lost  sight  of 
it  and  the  heavens  all  round  me  rested  upon  the  waters, 
my  dear  babes  came  upon  me  like  a  flash  of  lightning  ;  I 
saw  their  faces l  so  distinctly !  This  day  enriched  me  with 

1  In  a  letter  dated  November  1,  husband  with  the  danger  and  the 
1798,  Mrs.  Coleridge  acquaints  her  disfigurement  from  small-pox  which 


260  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [SEPT. 

characters,  and  I  passed  it  merrily.  Each  of  those  char- 
acters I  will  delineate  to  you  in  my  journal,  which  you  and 
Poole  alternately  will  receive  regularly  as  soon  as  I  arrive 
at  any  settled  place,  which  will  be  in  a  week.  Till  then  I 
can  do  little  more  than  give  you  notice  of  my  safety  and 
my  faithful  affection  to  you  (but  the  journal  will  com- 
mence from  the  day  of  my  arrival  at  London,  and  give 
every  day's  occurrence,  etc.).  I  have  it  written,  but  I 
have  neither  paper  or  time  to  transcribe  it.  I  trust  no- 
thing to  memory.  The  Ocean  is  a  noble  thing  by  night ; 
a  beautiful  white  cloud  of  foam  at  momentary  intervals 
roars  and  rushes  by  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  stars  of 
flame  dance  and  sparkle  and  go  out  in  it,  and  every  now 
and  then  light  detachments  of  foam  dart  away  from  the 
vessel's  side  with  their  galaxies  of  stars  and  scour  out  of 
sight  like  a  Tartar  troop  over  a  wilderness.  What  these 
stars  are  I  cannot  say ;  the  sailors  say  they  are  fish  spawn, 
which  is  phosphorescent.  The  noisy  passengers  swear  in 
all  their  languages,  with  drunken  hiccups,  that  I  shall 
write  no  more,  and  I  must  join  them.  Indeed,  they  pre- 
sent a  rich  feast  for  a  dramatist.  My  kind  love  to  Mrs. 
Poole  (with  what  wings  of  swiftness  would  I  fly  home  if 
I  could  find  something  in  Germany  to  do  her  good  !).  Re- 
member me  affectionately  to  Ward,  and  my  love  to  the 
Chesters  (Bessy,  Susan,  and  Julia)  and  to  Cruickshank, 
etc.,  etc.,  Ellen  and  Mary  when  you  see  them,  and  to 
Lavinia  Poole  and  Harriet  and  Sophy,  and  be  sure  to  give 
my  kind  love  to  Nanny.  I  associate  so  much  of  Hartley's 
infancy  with  her,  so  many  of  his  figures,  looks,  words,  and 
antics  with  her  form,  that  I  shall  never  cease  to  think  of 
her,  poor  girl!  without  interest.  Tell  my  best  good  friend, 
my  dear  Poole !  that  all  his  manuscripts,  with  Words- 
worth's Tragedy,  are  safe  in  Josiah  Wedgwood's  hands ; 

had    befallen    her    little    Berkeley,  faces  of  your  children  crossed  you 

"  The  dear   child,"  she  'writes,  "  is  like  a  flash  of  lightning,'  you  saw 

getting  strength   every  hour ;    but  that  face  for  the  last  time." 
'  when  you  lost  sight  of  land,  and  the 


1798]  TO  HIS  WIFE  261 

and  they  will  be  returned  to  him  together.  Good-night, 
my  dear,  dear  Sara !  —  "  every  night  when  I  go  to  bed, 
and  every  morning  when  I  rise,"  I  will  think  with  yearn- 
ing love  of  you  and  of  my  blessed  babies !  Once  more, 
my  dear  Sara  !  good-night. 

Wednesday  afternoon,  four  o'clock.  —  We  are  safe  in 
Hamburg  —  an  ugly  city  that  stinks  in  every  corner, 
house,  and  room  worse  than  cabins,  sea-sickness,  or  bilge- 
water  !  The  hotels  are  all  crowded.  With  great  diffi- 
culty we  have  procured  a  very  filthy  room  at  a  large  ex- 
pense ;  but  we  shall  move  to-morrow.  We  get  very  excel- 
lent claret  for  a  trifle  —  a  guinea  sells  at  present  for  more 
than  twenty-three  shillings  here.  But  for  all  particulars 
I  must  refer  your  patience  to  my  journal,  and  I  must  get 
some  proper  paper  —  I  shall  have  to  pay  a  shilling  or 
eighteenpence  with  every  letter.  N.  B.  Johnson  the 
bookseller,  without  any  poems  sold  to  him,  but  purely  out 
of  affection  conceived  for  me,  and  as  part  of  anything  I 
might  do  for  him,  gave  me  an  order  on  Remnant  at  Ham- 
burg for  thirty  pounds.  The  "  Epea  Pteroenta,"  an  Essay 
on  Population,  and  a  "  History  of  Paraguay,"  will  come 
down  for  me  directed  to  Poole,  and  for  Poole's  reading. 
Likewise  I  have  desired  Johnson  to  print  in  quarto 1  a  little 
poem  of  mine,  one  of  which  quartos  must  be  sent  to  my 
brother,  Rev.  Gr.  C.,  Ottery  St.  Mary,  carriage  paid.  Did 
you  receive  my  letter  directed  in  a  different  hand,  with 
the  30£.  banknote  ?  The  "  Morning  Post "  and  Magazine 
will  come  to  you  as  before.  If  not  regularly,  Stuart  de- 
sires that  you  will  write  to  him.  I  pray  you,  my  dear 
love  !  read  Edgeworth's  "  Essay  on  Education  "  —  read  it 
heart  and  soul,  and  if  you  approve  of  the  mode,  teach 
Hartley  his  letters.  I  am  very  desirous  that  you  should 
teach  him  to  read ;  and  they  point  out  some  easy  modes. 

1  "  Fears   in  Solitude,  written  in  Coleridge.     London  :  Printed  for  J. 

1798,  during  the  alarm  of  an  invasion.  Johnson,  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard. 

To  which  are  added,  France,  an  Ode  ;  1798." 
and  Frost  at   Midnight.    By  S.  T. 


262  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [Ocx. 

J.  Wedgwood  informed  me  that  the  Edgeworths  were 
most  miserable  when  children ;  and  yet  the  father  in  his 
book  is  ever  vapouring  about  their  happiness.  However, 
there  are  very  good  things  in  the  work  —  and  some  non- 
sense. 

Kiss  my  Hartley  and  Bercoo  baby  brodder  (kiss  them 
for  their  dear  father,  whose  heart  will  never  be  absent 
from  them  many  hours  together).  My  dear  Sara  !  I  think 
of  you  with  affection  and  a  desire  to  be  home,  and  in  the 
full  and  noblest  sense  of  the  word,  and  after  the  antique 
principles  of  Religion,  unsophisticated  by  Philosophy,  will 
be,  I  trust,  your  husband  faithful  unto  death, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Wednesday  night,  eleven  o'clock.  —  The  sky  and  col- 
ours of  the  clouds  are  quite  English,  just  as  if  I  were  com- 
ing out  of  T.  Poole's  homeward  with  you  in  my  arm. 

LXXXVIII.    TO  THE   SAME. 

[RATZBBURG],  October  20, 1798. 

.  .  .  But  I  must  check  these  feelings  and  write  more  col- 
lectedly. I  am  well,  my  dear  Love !  very  well,  and  my 
situation  is  in  all  respects  comfortable.  My  room  is  large 
and  healthy ;  the  house  commands  an  enchanting  prospect. 
The  pastor  is  worthy  and  a  learned  man  —  a  widower  with 
eight  children,  five  of  whom  are  at  home.  The  German 
language  is  spoken  here  in  the  utmost  purity.  The  chil- 
dren often  stand  round  my  sofa  and  chatter  away ;  and 
the  little  one  of  all  corrects  my  pronunciation  with  a  pretty 
pert  lisp  and  self-sufficient  tone,  while  the  others  laugh 
with  no  little  joyance.  The  Gentry  and  Nobility  here  pay 
me  almost  an  adulatory  attention.  There  is  a  very  beauti- 
ful little  woman  —  less,  I  think,  than  you  —  a  Countess 
Kilmansig ; l  her  father  is  our  Lord  Howe's  cousin.  She 

1  According  to  Burke's  Peerage,  Howe,  and  father  of  the  Admiral, 
Emanuel  Scoope,  second  Viscount  "Our  Lord  Howe, "married,  in  1719, 


1798]  TO  HIS  WIFE  263 

is  the  wife  of  a  very  handsome  man,  and  has  two  fine  lit- 
tle children.  I  have  quite  won  her  heart  by  a  German 
poem  which  I  wrote.  It  is  that  sonnet,  "  Charles  !  my 
slow  heart  was  only  sad  when  first,"  and  considerably  di- 
lated with  new  images,  and  much  superior  in  the  German 
to  its  former  dress.  It  has  excited  no  small  wonder  here 
for  its  purity  and  harmony.  I  mention  this  as  a  proof  of 
my  progress  in  the  language  —  indeed,  it  has  surprised 
myself ;  but  I  want  to  be  home,  and  I  work  hard,  very 
hard,  to  shorten  the  time  of  absence.  The  little  Countess 
said  to  me,  "  Oh !  Englishmen  be  always  sehr  gut  fathers 
and  husbands.  I  hope  dat  you  will  come  and  lofe  my  lit- 
tle babies,  and  I  will  sing  to  you  and  play  on  the  guitar 
and  the  pianoforte  ;  and  my  dear  huspan  he  sprachs  sehr 
gut  English,  and  he  lofes  England  better  than  all  the 
world."  (Sehr  gut  is  very  good ;  sprach,  speaks  or  talks.) 
She  is  a  sweet  little  woman,  and,  what  is  very  rare  in  Ger- 
many, she  has  perfectly  white,  regular,  French  teeth.  I 
could  give  you  many  instances  of  the  ridiculous  partiality, 
or  rather  madness,  for  the  English.  One  of  the  first 
things  which  strikes  an  Englishman  is  the  German  cards. 
They  are  very  different  from  ours ;  the  court  cards  have 
two  heads,  a  very  convenient  thing,  as  it  prevents  the 
necessity  of  turning  the  cards  and  betraying  your  hand, 
and  are  smaller  and  cost  only  a  penny ;  yet  the  envelope 
in  which  they  are  sold  has  "  Wahrlich  Englische  Karten," 
that  is,  genuine  English  cards.  I  bought  some  sticking- 
plaister  yesterday;  it  cost  twopence  a  very  large  piece, 
but  it  was  three-halfpence  farthing  too  dear  —  for  indeed 
it  looked  like  a  nasty  rag  of  black  silk  which  cat  or  mouse 

Mary  Sophia,  daughter  of  Baron  Kiel-  language,  and  that  you  are  so  gay 

mansegge,  Master  of  the  Horse  to  with  the  ladies.     You  may  give  my 

George  I.    Coleridge's  countess  must  respects  to  them,  and  say  that  I  am 

have  been  a  great-granddaughter  of  not  at  all  jealous,  for  I  know  my 

the  baron.    In  her  reply  to  this  letter,  dear    Samuel  in  her  affliction  will 

dated  December  13,  1798,  Mrs.  Cole-  not  forget  entirely  his  most  affec- 

ridge  writes  :  "  I  am  very  proud  to  tionate  wife,  Sara  Coleridge." 
hear  that  you  are  so  forward  in  the 


264  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [Nov. 

dung  had  stained  and  spotted  —  but  this  was  "  Konigl.  Pat. 
Engl.  Im.  Pflaster,"  that  is,  Royal  Patent  English  Orna- 
ment Plaister.  They  affect  to  write  English  over  their 
doors.  One  house  has  "  English  Lodgement  and  Caffee 
Hous  !  "  But  the  most  amusing  of  all  is  an  advertisement 
of  a  quack  medicine  of  the  same  class  with  Dr.  Solomon's 
and  Brody's,  for  the  spirits  and  all  weakness  of  mind  and 
body.  What,  think  you?  "A  wonderful  and  secret 
Essence  extracted  with  patience  and  God's  blessing  from 
the  English  Oaks,  and  from  that  part  thereof  which  the 
heroic  sailors  of  that  Great  Nation  call  the  Heart  of  Oak. 
This  invaluable  and  infallible  Medicine  has  been  godlily 
extracted  therefrom  by  the  slow  processes  of  the  Sun  and 
magnetical  Influences  of  the  Planets  and  fixed  Stars." 
This  is  a  literal  translation.  At  the  concert,  when  I  en- 
tered, the  band  played  "  Britannia  rule  the  waves,"  and  at 
the  dinner  which  was  given  in  honour  of  Nelson's  victory, 
twenty-one  guns  were  fired  by  order  of  the  military  Gov- 
ernor, and  between  each  firing  the  military  band  played 
an  English  tune.  I  never  saw  such  enthusiasm,  or  heard 
such  tumultuous  shouting,  as  when  the  Governor  gave  as 
a  toast,  "  The  Great  Nation."  By  this  name  they  always 
designate  England,  in  opposition  to  the  same  title  self- 
assumed  by  France.  The  military  Governor  is  a  pleas- 
ant man,  and  both  he  and  the  Amtmann  (i.  e.  the  civil 
regent)  are  particularly  attentive  to  me.  I  am  quite  do- 
mesticated in  the  house  of  the  latter ;  liis  first  wife  was  an 
English  woman,  and  his  partiality  for  England  is  without 
bounds.  God  bless  you,  my  Love !  Write  me  a  very, 
very  long  letter ;  write  me  all  that  can  cheer  me ;  all  that 
will  make  my  eyes  swim  and  my  heart  melt  with  tender- 
ness !  Your  faithful  and  affectionate  husband, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.     A  dinner  lasts  not  uncommonly  three  hours ! 


1798]  TO  HIS  WIFE  265 

LXXXIX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

RATZEBUKG,  November  26,  1798. 

Another  and  another  and  yet  another  post  day ;  and 
still  Chester  greets  me  with,  "  No  letters  from  England !  " 
A  knell,  that  strikes  out  regularly  four  times  a  week. 
How  is  this,  my  Love  ?  Why  do  you  not  write  to  me  ?  Do 
you  think  to  shorten  my  absence  by  making  it  insupporta- 
ble to  me  ?  Or  perhaps  you  anticipate  that  if  I  received 
a  letter  I  should  idly  turn  away  from  my  German  to  dream 
of  you  —  of  you  and  my  beloved  babies !  Oh,  yes  !  I 
should  indeed  dream  of  you  for  hours  and  hours ;  of  you, 
and  of  beloved  Poole,  and  of  the  infant  that  sucks  at  your 
breast,  and  of  my  dear,  dear  Hartley.  You  would  be 
present,  you  would  be  with  me  in  the  air  that  I  breathe  ; 
and  I  should  cease  to  see  you  only  when  the  tears  rolled 
out  of  my  eyes,  and  this  naked,  undomestic  room  became 
again  visible.  But  oh,  with  what  leaping  and  exhilarated 
faculties  should  I  return  to  the  objects  and  realities  of  my 
mission.  But  now  —  nay,  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the 
gloominess  of  thought,  the  burthen  and  sickness  of  heart, 
which  I  experience  every  post  day.  Through  the  whole 
remaining  day  I  am  incapable  of  everything  but  anxious 
imaginations,  of  sore  and  fretful  feelings.  The  Hamburg 
newspapers  arrive  here  four  times  a  week ;  and  almost 
every  newspaper  commences  with,  "  Schreiben  aus  Lon- 
don —  They  write  from  London."  This  day's,  with 
schreiben  aus  London,  vom  November  13.  But  I  am  cer- 
tain that  you  have  written  more  than  once ;  and  I  stum- 
ble about  in  dark  and  idle  conjectures,  how  and  by  what 
means  it  can  have  happened  that  I  have  not  received  your 
letters.  I  recommence  my  journal,  but  with  feelings  that 
approach  to  disgust  —  for  in  very  truth  I  have  nothing 
interesting  to  relate. 


266  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [JAN. 

XC.    TO   THE   SAME. 

December  2,  1798. 

Sunday  Evening.  —  God,  the  Infinite,  be  praised  that 
my  babes  are  alive.  His  mercy  will  forgive  me  that  late 
and  all  too  slowly  I  raised  up  my  heart  in  thanksgiving. 
At  first  and  for  a  time  I  wept  as  passionately  as  if  they 
had  been  dead;  and  for  the  whole  day  the  weight  was 
heavy  upon  me,  relieved  only  by  fits  of  weeping.  I  had 
long  expected,  I  had  passionately  expected,  a  letter ;  I  re- 
ceived it,  and  my  frame  trembled.  I  saw  your  hand,  and 
all  feelings  of  mind  and  body  crowded  together.  Had  the 
news  been  cheerful  and  only  "  We  are  as  you  left  us,"  I 
must  have  wept  to  have  delivered  myself  of  the  stress  and 
tumult  of  my  animal  sensibility.  But  when  I  read  the 
danger  and  the  agony  —  My  dear  Sara !  my  love !  my  wife ! 
—  God  bless  you  and  preserve  us.  I  am  well ;  but  a  stye,  or 
something  of  that  kind,  has  come  upon  and  enormously 
swelled  my  eyelids,  so  that  it  is  painful  and  improper  for 
me  to  read  or  write.  In  a  few  days  it  will  now  disappear, 
and  I  will  write  at  length  (now  it  forces  me  to  cease).  To- 
morrow I  will  write  a  line  or  two  on  the  other  side  of  the 
page  to  Mr.  Roskilry. 

I  received  your  letter  Friday,  November  31.  I  cannot 
well  account  for  the  slowness.  Oh,  my  babies !  Absence 
makes  it  painful  to  be  a  father. 

My  life,  believe  and  know  that  I  pant  to  be  home  and 
with  you. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

December  3.  —  My  eyes  are  painful,  but  there  is  no 
doubt  but  they  will  be  well  in  two  or  three  days.  I  have 
taken  physic,  eat  very  little  flesh,  and  drink  only  water, 
but  it  grieves  me  that  I  cannot  read.  I  need  not  have 
troubled  my  poor  eyes  with  a  superfluous  love  to  my  dear 
Poole. 


1799]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  267 

XCI.    TO   THE  EEV.  MR.   ROSKILLY.1 

RATZEBURG,  Germany,  December  3,  1798. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  There  is  an  honest  heart  out  of  Great 
Britain  that  enters  into  your  good  fortune  with  a  sin- 
cere and  lively  joy.  May  you  enjoy  life  and  health  — 
all  else  you  have,  —  a  good  wife,  a  good  conscience,  a  good 
temper,  sweet  children,  and  competence  !  The  first  glass 
of  wine  I  drink  shall  be  a  bumper  —  not  to  you,  no !  but 
to  the  Bishop  of  Gloucester !  God  bless  him  ! 
Sincerely  your  friend, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XCH.    TO  THOMAS   POOLE. 

January  4,  1799  —  Morning,  11  o'clock. 

My  friend,  my  dear  friend !  Two  hours  have  past  since 
I  received  your  letter.  It  was  so  frightfully  long  since  I 
received  one ! !  My  body  is  weak  and  faint  with  the 
beating  of  my  heart.  But  everything  affects  me  more  than 
it  ought  to  do  in  a  foreign  country.  I  cried  myself  blind 
about  Berkeley,  when  I  ought  to  have  been  on  my  knees 
in  the  joy  of  thanksgiving.  The  waywardness  of  the 
pacquets  is  wonderful.  On  December  the  seventh  Ches- 
ter received  a  letter  from  his  sister  dated  November  27. 
Yours  is  dated  November  22,  and  I  received  it  only  this- 
morning.  I  am  quite  well,  calm  and  industrious.  I  now 
read  German  as  English,  —  that  is,  without  any  mental 
translation  as  I  read.  I  likewise  understand  all  that  is 
said  to  me,  and  a  good  deal  of  what  they  say  to  each  other. 

1  The  "  Rev.  Mr.  Roskilly  "  had  ley]  left  him  [S.  T.  C.]  in  London, 

been  curate-in-charge  of  the  parish  and    proceeded    to    Kempsford    in 

of  Nether  Stowey,  and  the  occasion  Gloucestershire,  the  Rectory  of  Mr. 

of  the  letter  was  his  promotion  to  the  Roskilly  ;  remained  there  a  month. 

Rectory  of  Kempsford  in  Glouces-  Papa  was  to  have  joined  us  there, 

tershire.     Mrs.  S.  T.  Coleridge,  in  a  but  did  not."   See  Thomas  Poole  and 

late  letter  (probably  1843)   to  her  his  Friends,   i.    25-27,   and  Letters 

sister,    Mrs.    Lovell,    writes  :    "  In  from  the  Lake  Poets,  p.  6. 
March  [1800]  I  and  the  child  [Hart- 


268  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [JAN. 

On  very  trivial  and  on  metaphysical  subjects  I  can  talk 
tolerably  —  so,  so  !  —  but  in  that  conversation,  which  is 
between  both,  I  bungle  most  ridiculously.  I  owe  it  to  my 
industry  that  I  can  read  old  German,  and  even  the  old 
low  German,  better  than  most  of  even  the  educated  na- 
tives. It  has  greatly  enlarged  my  knowledge  of  the  Eng- 
lish language.  It  is  a  great  bar  to  the  amelioration  of 
Germany,  that  through  at  least  half  of  it,  and  that  half 
composed  almost  wholly  of  Protestant  States,  from  whence 
alone  amelioration  can  proceed,  the  agriculturists  and  a 
great  part  of  the  artizans  talk  a  language  as  different  from 
the  language  of  the  higher  classes  (in  which  all  books  are 
written)  as  the  Latin  is  from  the  Greek.  The  differences 
are  greater  than  the  affinities,  and  the  affinities  are  dark- 
ened by  the  differences  of  pronunciation  and  spelling.  I 
have  written  twice  to  Mr.  Josiah  Wedgwood,1  and  in  a 
few  days  will  follow  a  most  voluminous  letter,  or  rather 
series  of  letters,  which  will  comprise  a  history  of  the  bauers 
or  peasants  collected,  not  so  much  from  books  as  from  oral 
communications  from  the  Amtmann  here  —  (an  Amtmann 
is  a  sort  of  perpetual  Lord  Mayor,  uniting  in  himself 
Judge  and  Justice  of  Peace  over  the  bauers  of  a  cer- 
tain district).  I  have  enjoyed  great  advantages  in  this 
place,  but  I  have  paid  dear  for  them.  Including  all 
expenses,  I  have  not  lived  at  less  than  two  pounds  a  week. 
Wordsworth  (from  whom  I  receive  long  and  affectionate 
letters)  has  enjoyed  scarcely  one  advantage,  but  his  ex- 
penses have  been  considerably  less  than  they  were  in  Eng- 
land. Here  I  shall  stay  till  the  last  week  in  January, 
when  I  shall  proceed  to  Gottingen,  where,  all  expenses 
included,  I  can  live  for  15  shillings  a  week.  For  these 
last  two  months  I  have  drunk  nothing  but  water,  and  I 

1  In  his  letter  of  January  20, 1799,  hand.     A  third  letter,  dated  Gottin- 

Josiah  Wedgwood  acknowledges  the  gen,  May  21,  1799,  was  printed  by 

receipt  of  a  letter  dated  November  Cottle  in  his  Reminiscences,  1848,  p. 

29, 1798,  but  adds  that  an  earlier  let-  425. 
ter  from  Hamburg  had  not  come  to 


1799] 


TO  THOMAS  POOLE 


269 


eat  but  little  animal  food.  At  Gottingen  I  shall  hire  lodg- 
ing for  two  months,  buy  my  own  cold  beef  at  an  eating- 
house,  and  dine  in  my  chamber,  which  I  can  have  at  a  dol- 
lar a  week.  And  here  at  Gottingen  I  must  endeavour  to 
unite  the  advantages  of  advancing  in  German  and  doing 
something  to  repay  myself.  My  dear  Poole  !  I  am  afraid 
that,  supposing  I  return  in  the  first  week  of  May,  my 
whole  expenses 1  from  Stowey  to  Stowey,  including  books 
and  clothes,  will  not  have  been  less  than  90  pounds  !  and 
if  I  buy  ten  pounds'  worth  more  of  books  it  will  have  been 
a  hundred.  I  despair  not  but  with  intense  application  and 
regular  use  of  time,  to  which  I  have  now  almost  accus- 
tomed myself,  that  by  three  months'  residence  at  Gottingen 


1  Miss  Meteyard,  in  her  Group  of 
Englishmen,18Ti,  p.  99, gives  extracts 
from  the  account-current  of  Messrs. 
P.  and  O.  Von  Axen,  the  Hamburg 
agents  of  the  Wedgwoods.  Accord- 
ing to  her  figures,  Coleridge  drew 
£125  from  October  20  to  March  29, 
1799,  and,  "  conjointly  with  Words- 
worth," £106  10s.  on  July  8,  1799. 
Mr.  Dykes  Campbell,  in  a  footnote 
to  his  Memoir,  p.  xliv.,  combats  Miss 
Meteyard's  assertion  that  these  sums 
were  advanced  by  the  Wedgwoods 
to  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth,  and 
argues  that  Wordsworth  merely  drew 
on  the  Von  Axens  for  sums  already 
paid  in  from  his  own  resources. 
Coleridge,  he  thinks,  had  only  his 
annuity  to  look  to,  but  probably  an- 
ticipated his  income.  In  a  MS.  note- 
book of  1798—99,  Coleridge  inserted 
some  concise  but  not  very  business- 
like entries  as  to  expenditures  and 
present  resources,  but  says  nothing 
as  to  receipts. 

"  March  25th,  being  Easter  Mon- 
day, Chester  and  S.  T.  C.,  in  a 
damn'd  dirty  hole  in  the  Burg  Strasse 
at  Gottingen,  possessed  at  that  mo- 


ment eleven  Louis  d'ors  and  two  dol- 
lars. When  the  money  is  spent  in 
common  expenses  S.  T.  Coleridge  will 
owe  Chester  5  pounds  12  shillings. 

"  NOTE.  —  From  September  8  to 
April  8  I  shall  have  spent  £90,  of 
which  £15  was  in  Books;  and 
Cloathes,  mending  and  making,  £10. 

"  May  10.  We  have  17  Louis  d'or, 
of  which,  as  far  as  I  can  at  present 
calculate,  10  belong  to  Chester." 

The  most  probable  conclusion  is 
that  both  Coleridge  and  Chester  were 
fairly  well  supplied  with  money 
when  they  left  England,  and  that 
the  £178  10s.  which  Coleridge  re- 
ceived from  the  Von  Axens  covered 
some  portion  of  Chester's  expenses 
in  addition  to  his  own.  I  may  add 
that  a  recent  collation  of  the  auto- 
graph letter  of  Coleridge  to  Josiah 
Wedgwood  dated  May  21, 1799,  Got- 
tingen, with  the  published  version 
in  Cottle's  Reminiscences,  pp.  425- 
429,  fully  bears  out  Mr.  Campbell's 
contention,  that  though  Coleridge 
anticipated  his  annuity,  he  was  not 
the  recipient  of  large  sums  over  and 
above  what  was  guaranteed  to  him. 


270  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [JAN. 

I  shall  have  on  paper  at  least  all  the  materials  if  not  the 
whole  structure  of  a  work  that  will  repay  me.  The  work 
I  have  planned,  and  I  have  imperiously  excluded  all 
waverings  about  other  works.  That  is  the  disease  of  my 
mind  —  it  is  comprehensive  in  its  conceptions,  and  wastes 
itself  in  the  contemplations  of  the  many  things  which  it 
might  do.  I  am  aware  of  the  disease,  and  for  the  next 
three  months  (if  I  cannot  cure  it)  I  will  at  least  suspend 
its  operation.  This  book  is  a  life  of  Lessing,  and  inter- 
weaved  with  it  a  true  state  of  German  literature  in  its  rise 
and  present  state.  I  have  already  written  a  little  life  from 
three  different  biographies,  divided  it  into  years,  and  at 
Gottingen  I  will  read  his  works  regularly  according  to  the 
years  in  which  they  were  written,  and  the  controversies, 
religious  and  literary,  which  they  occasioned.  But  of  this 
say  nothing  to  any  one.  The  journey  to  Germany  has  cer- 
tainly done  me  good.  My  habits  are  less  irregular  and 
my  mind  more  in  my  own  power.  But  I  have  much  still 
to  do !  I  did,  indeed,  receive  great  joy  from  Roskilly's 
good  fortune,  and  in  a  little  note  to  my  dear  Sara  I  joined 
a  note  of  congratulation  to  Roskilly.  O  Poole  !  you  are  a 
noble  heart  as  ever  God  made  !  Poor  !  he  is  pass- 
ing through  a  fiery  discipline,  and  I  would  fain  believe 
that  it  will  end  in  his  peace  and  utility.  Wordsworth  is 
divided  in  his  mind,  —  unquietly  divided  between  the 
neighbourhood  of  Stowey  and  the  North  of  England.  He 
cannot  think  of  settling  at  a  distance  from  me,  and  I  have 
told  him  that  I  cannot  leave  the  vicinity  of  Stowey.  His 
chief  objection  to  Stowey  is  the  want  of  books.  The  Bris- 
tol Library  is  a  hum,  and  will  do  us  little  service ;  and  he 
thinks  that  he  can  procure  a  house  near  Sir  Gilford  Law- 
son's  by  the  Lakes,  and  have  free  access  to  his  immense 
library.  I  think  it  better  once  in  a  year  to  walk  to  Cam- 
bridge, in  the  summer  vacation  —  perhaps  I  may  be  able 
to  get  rooms  for  nothing,  and  there  for  a  couple  of  months 
read  like  a  Turk  on  a  given  plan,  and  return  home  with  a 


1799]  TO  HIS   WIFE  271 

mass  of  materials  which,  with  dear,  independent  Poetry, 
will  fully  employ  the  remaining  year.  But  this  is  idle 
prating  about  a  future.  But  indeed,  it  is  time  to  be  look- 
ing out  for  a  house  for  me  —  it  is  not  possible  I  can  be 
either  comfortable  or  useful  in  so  small  a  house  as  that  in 
Lime  Street.  If  Woodlands  can  be  gotten  at  a  reason- 
able price,  I  would  have  it.  I  will  now  finish  my  long- 
neglected  journal. 

Sara,  I  suppose,  is  at  Bristol  —  on  Monday  I  shall  write 
to  her.  The  frost  here  has  been  uncommonly  severe. 
For  two  days  it  was  20  degrees  under  the  freezing  point. 
Wordsworth  has  left  Goslar,  and  is  on  his  road  into  higher 
Saxony  to  cruise  for  a  pleasanter  place ;  he  has  made  but 
little  progress  in  the  language.  I  am  interrupted,  and  if 
I  do  not  conclude  shall  lose  the  post.  Give  my  kind  love 
to  your  dear  mother.  Oh,  that  I  could  but  find  her  com- 
fortable on  my  return.  To  Ward  remember  me  affection- 
ately —  likewise  remember  to  James  Cole ;  and  my  grate- 
ful remembrances  to  Mrs.  Cole  for  her  kindness  during 
my  wife's  domestic  troubles.  To  Harriet,  Sophia,  and 
Lavinia  Poole  —  to  the  Chesters  —  to  Mary  and  Ellen 
Cruickshank  —  in  short,  to  all  to  whom  it  will  give  pleas- 
ure remember  me  affectionately. 

My  dear,  dear  Poole,  God  bless  us  ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  The  Amtmann,  who  is  almost  an  Englishman 
and  an  idolizer  of  our  nation,  desires  to  be  kindly  remem- 
bered to  you.  He  told  me  yesterday  that  he  had  dreamt 
of  you  the  night  before. 

XCIII.    TO   HIS   WIPE. 

RATZBBURG,  Monday,  January  14,  1799. 

MY  DEAREST  LOVE,  —  Since  the  wind  changed,  and  it 
became  possible  for  me  to  have  letters,  I  lost  all  my  tran- 
quillity. Last  evening  I  was  absent  in  company,  and  when 


272  A   VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [JAN. 

I  returned  to  solitude,  restless  in  every  fibre,  a  novel  which 
I  attempted  to  read  seemed  to  interest  me  so  extravagantly 
that  I  threw  it  down,  and  when  it  was  out  of  my  hands  I 
knew  nothing  of  what  I  had  been  reading.  This  morning 
I  awoke  long  before  light,  feverish  and  unquiet.  I  was 
certain  in  my  mind  that  I  should  have  a  letter  from  you, 
but  before  it  arrived  my  restlessness  and  the  irregular  pul- 
sation of  my  heart  had  quite  wearied  me  down,  and  I  held 
the  letter  in  my  hand  like  as  if  I  was  stupid,  without  at- 
tempting to  open  it.  "  Why  don't  you  read  the  letter  ?  " 
said  Chester,  and  I  read  it.  Ah,  little  Berkeley  —  I  have 
misgivings,  but  my  duty  is  rather  to  comfort  you,  my  dear, 
dear  Sara !  I  am  so  exhausted  that  I  could  sleep.  I  am 
well,  but  my  spirits  have  left  me.  I  am  completely  home- 
sick. I  must  walk  half  an  hour,  for  my  mind  is  too  scat- 
tered to  continue  writing.  I  entreat  and  entreat  you, 
Sara !  take  care  of  yourself.  If  you  are  well,  I  think  I 
could  frame  my  thoughts  so  that  I  should  not  sink  under 
other  losses.  You  do  right  in  writing  me  the  truth.  Poole 
is  kind,  but  you  do  right,  my  dear  !  In  a  sense  of  reality 
there  is  always  comfort.  The  workings  of  one's  imagina- 
tion ever  go  beyond  the  worst  that  nature  afflicts  us  with ; 
they  have  the  terror  of  a  superstitious  circumstance.  I 
express  myself  unintelligibly.  Enough  that  you  write  me 
always  the  whole  truth.  Direct  your  next  letter  thus : 
An  den  Herrn  Coleridge,  a  la  Poste  Restante,  Gottingen, 
Germany.  If  God  permit  I  shall  be  there  before  this  day 
three  weeks,  and  I  hope  on  May-day  to  be  once  more  at 
Stowey.  My  motives  for  going  to  Gottingen  I  have  writ- 
ten to  Poole.  I  hear  as  often  from  Wordsworth  as  letters 
can  go  backward  and  forward  in  a  country  where  fifty 
miles  in  a  day  and  night  is  expeditious  travelling !  He 
seems  to  have  employed  more  time  in  writing  English  than 
in  studying  German.  No  wonder !  for  he  might  as  well 
have  been  in  England  as  at  Goslar,  in  the  situation  which 
he  chose  and  with  his  unseeking  manners.  He  has  now  left 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  273 

it,  and  is  on  his  journey  to  Nordhausen.  His  taking  his 
sister  with  him  was  a  wrong  step ;  it  is  next  but  impossi- 
ble for  any  but  married  women,  or  in  the  suit  of  married 
women,  to  be  introduced  to  any  company  in  Germany.  Sis- 
ter here  is  considered  as  only  a  name  for  mistress.  Still, 
however,  male  acquaintance  he  might  have  had,  and  had  I 
been  at  Goslar  I  would  have  had  them ;  but  "W.,  God  love 
him !  seems  to  have  lost  his  spirits  and  almost  his  inclina- 
tion for  it.  In  the  mean  time  his  expenses  have  been  al- 
most less  than  they  [would  have  been]  in  England ;  mine 
have  been  very  great,  but  I  do  not  despair  of  returning  to 
England  with  somewhat  to  pay  the  whole.  O  God !  I  do 
languish  to  be  at  home. 

I  will  endeavour  to  give  you  some  idea  of  Ratzeburg, 
but  I  am  a  wretched  describer.  First  you  must  imagine 
a  lake,  running  from  south  to  north  about  nine  miles  in 
length,  and  of  very  various  breadths  —  the  broadest  part 
may  be,  perhaps,  two  or  three  miles,  the  narrowest  scarce 
more  than  half  a  mile.  About  a  mile  from  the  southern- 
most point  of  the  lake,  that  is,  from  the  beginning  of  the 
lake,  is  the  island-town  of  Ratzeburg. 


•  is  Ratzeburg  ;    &Jt  is  our  house  on  the  hill  ;  from  the 

bottom  of  the  hill  there  lies  on  the  lake  a  slip  of  land, 

scarcely  two  stone-throws  wide,  at  the  end  of  which  is  a 

little  bridge  with  a  superb  military 

gate,  and  this  bridge  joins  Ratze- 

burg  to  the  slip  of  land  —  you  pass 

through  Ratzeburg  up  a  little  hill, 

and  down  the  hill,  and  this  brings  you  to  another  bridge, 

narrow,  but  of  an  immense  length,  which  communicates 

with  the  other  shore. 


•*. 
JL  ' 

]/ 


274  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [JAN. 

The  water  to  the  south  of  Ratzeburg  is  called  the  little 
lake  and  the  other  the  large  lake,  though  they  are  but  one 
piece  of  water.  This  little  lake  is  very  beautiful,  the 
shores  just  often  enough  green  and  bare  to  give  the  proper 
effect  to  the  magnificent  groves  which  mostly  fringe  them. 
The  views  vary  almost  every  ten  steps,  such  and  so  beau- 
tiful are  the  turnings  and  windings  of  the  shore  —  they 
unite  beauty  and  magnitude,  and  can  be  but  expressed  by 
feminine  grandeur  !  At  the  north  of  the  great  lake,  and 
peering  over,  you  see  the  seven  church-towers  of  Lubec, 
which  is  twelve  or  fourteen  miles  from  Ratzeburg.  Yet 
you  see  them  as  distinctly  as  if  they  were  not  three  miles 
from  you.  The  worse  thing  is  that  Ratzeburg  is  built  en- 
tirely of  bricks  and  tiles,  and  is  therefore  all  red  —  a  clump 
of  brick-dust  red  —  it  gives  you  a  strong  idea  of  perfect 
neatness,  but  it  is  not  beautiful.1  In  the  beginning  or 
middle  of  October,  I  forget  which,  we  went  to  Lubec  in 
a  boat.  For  about  two  miles  the  shores  of  the  lake  are 
exquisitely  beautiful,  the  woods  now  running  into  the 
water,  now  retiring  in  all  angles.  After  this  the  left 
shore  retreats,  —  the  lake  acquires  its  utmost  breadth, 
and  ceases  to  be  beautiful.  At  the  end  of  the  lake  is 
the  river,  about  as  large  as  the  river  at  Bristol,  but 
winding  in  infinite  serpentines  through  a  dead  flat,  with 
willows  and  reeds,  till  you  reach  Lubec,  an  old  fantastic 
town.  We  visited  the  churches  at  Lubec  —  they  were 
crowded  with  gaudy  gilded  figures,  and  a  profusion  of 
pictures,  among  which  were  always  the  portraits  of  the 
popular  pastors  who  had  served  the  church.  The  pas- 
tors here  wear  white  ruffs  exactly  like  the  pictures  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  There  were  in  the  Lubec  churches 
a  very  large  attendance,  but  almost  all  women.  The 
genteeler  people  dressed  precisely  as  the  English;  but 

1  A  portion  of  this  description  of    lished  in  No.  10  of  The  Friend,  De- 
Ratzeburg  is  included  in  No.  III.     cember  21,  1809. 
of  Satyrane's  Letters,  originally  pub- 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  275 

behind  every  lady  sat  her  maid,  —  the  caps  with  gold 
and  silver  combs.  Altogether,  a  Lubec  church  is  an 
amusing  sight.  In  the  evening  I  wished  myself  a  painter, 
just  to  draw  a  German  Party  at  cards.  One  man's  long 
pipe  rested  on  the  table,  by  the  fish-dish ;  another  who 
was  shuffling,  and  of  course  had  both  hands  employed, 
held  his  pipe  in  his  teeth,  and  it  hung  down  between 
his  thighs  even  to  his  ankles,  and  the  distortion  which 
the  attitude  and  effort  occasioned  made  him  a  most 
ludicrous  phiz.  .  .  .  [If  it]  had  been  possible  I  would 
have  loitered  a  week  in  those  churches,  and  found  inces- 
sant amusement.  Every  picture,  every  legend  cut  out  in 
gilded  wood-work,  was  a  history  of  the  manners  and  feel- 
ings of  the  ages  in  which  such  works  were  admired  and 
executed. 

As  the  sun  both  rises  and  sets  over  the  little  lake  by 
us,  both  rising  and  setting  present  most  lovely  specta- 
cles.1 In  October  Ratzeburg  used  at  sunset  to  appear 
completely  beautiful.  A  deep  red  light  spread  over  all, 
in  complete  harmony  with  the  red  town,  the  brown-red 
woods,  and  the  yellow-red  reeds  on  the  skirts  of  the  lake 
and  on  the  slip  of  land.  A  few  boats,  paddled  by  single 
persons,  used  generally  to  be  floating  up  and  down  in  the 
rich  light.  But  when  first  the  ice  fell  on  the  lake,  and  the 
whole  lake  was  frozen  one  large  piece  of  thick  transparent 
glass  —  O  my  God  !  what  sublime  scenery  I  have  beheld. 
Of  a  morning  I  have  seen  the  little  lake  covered  with  mist ; 
when  the  sun  peeped  over  the  hills  the  mist  broke  in  the 
middle,  and  at  last  stood  as  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea  are 
said  to  have  done  when  the  Israelites  passed ;  and  between 
these  two  walls  of  mist  the  sunlight  burst  upon  the  ice  in 
a  straight  road  of  golden  fire,  all  across  the  lake,  intolera- 
bly bright,  and  the  walls  of  mist  partaking  of  the  light  in 

1  The  following  description  of  the  The  Friend,  December  28,  1809,  as 
frozen  lake  was  thrown  into  a  literary  "Christmas  Indoors  in  North  Ger- 
shape  and  published  in  No.  19  of  many." 


276  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [MARCH 

a  multitude  of  colours.  About  a  month  ago  the  vehe- 
mence of  the  wind  had  shattered  the  ice ;  part  of  it,  quite 
shattered,  was  driven  to  shore  and  had  fro/en  anew ;  this 
was  of  a  deep  blue,  and  represented  an  agitated  sea  —  the 
water  that  ran  up  between  the  great  islands  of  ice  shone  of 
a  yellow-green  (it  was  at  sunset),  and  all  the  scattered 
islands  of  smooth  ice  were  blood,  intensely  bright  blood ; 
on  some  of  the  largest  islands  the  fishermen  were  pulling 
out  their  immense  nets  through  the  holes  made  in  the  ice 
for  this  purpose,  and  the  fishermen,  the  net-poles,  and  the 
huge  nets  made  a  part  of  the  glory !  O  my  God  !  how  I 
wished  you  to  be  with  me !  In  skating  there  are  three 
pleasing  circumstances  —  firstly,  the  infinitely  subtle  par- 
ticles of  ice  which  the  skate  cuts  upr  and  which  creep  and 
run  before  the  skater  like  a  low  mist,  and  in  sunrise  or 
sunset  become  coloured ;  second,  the  shadow  of  the  skater 
in  the  water  seen  through  the  transparent  ice ;  and  thirdly, 
the  melancholy  undulating  sound  from  the  skate,  not  with- 
out variety ;  and,  when  very  many  are  skating  together, 
the  sounds  give  an  impulse  to  the  icy  trees,  and  the  woods 
all  round  the  lake  tinkle.  It  is  a  pleasant  amusement  to 
sit  in  an  ice  stool  (as  they  are  called)  and  be  driven  along 
by  two  skaters,  faster  than  most  horses  can  gallop.  As 
to  the  customs  here,  they  are  nearly  the  same  as  in  Eng- 
land, except  that  [the  men]  never  sit  after  dinner  [and 
only]  drink  at  dinner,  which  often  lasts  three  or  four  hours, 
and  in  noble  families  is  divided  into  three  gangs,  that  is, 
walks.  When  you  have  sat  about  an  hour,  you  rise  up, 
each  lady  takes  a  gentleman's  arm,  and  you  walk  about 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour — in  the  mean  time  another  course 
is  put  upon  the  table ;  and,  this  in  great  dinners,  is  re- 
peated three  times.  A  man  here  seldom  sees  his  wife  till 
dinner,  —  they  take  their  coffee  in  separate  rooms,  and 
never  eat  at  breakfast ;  only  as  soon  as  they  are  up  they 
take  their  coffee,  and  about  eleven  o'clock  eat  a  bit  of  bread 
and  butter  with  the  coffee.  The  men  at  least  take  a  pipe. 


1799]  TO   HIS  WIFE  277 

Indeed,  a  pipe  at  breakfast  is  a  great  addition  to  the  com- 
fort of  life.  I  shall  [smoke  at]  no  other  time  in  England. 
Here  I  smoke  four  times  a  day  —  1  at  breakfast,  1  half  an 
hour  before  dinner,  1  in  the  afternoon  at  tea,  and  1  just 
before  bed-time  —  but  I  shall  give  it  all  up,  unless,  as  be- 
fore observed,  you  should  happen  to  like  the  smoke  of  a 
pipe  at  breakfast.  Once  when  I  first  came  here  I  smoked 
a  pipe  immediately  after  dinner ;  the  pastor  expressed  his 
surprise :  I  expressed  mine  that  he  could  smoke  before 
breakfast.  "  O  Herr  Gott !  "  (that  is,  Lord  God)  quoth 
he,  "  it  is  delightful ;  it  invigorates  the  frame  and  it  clears 
out  the  mouth  so."  A  common  amusement  at  the  German 
Universities  is  for  a  number  of  young  men  to  smoke  out  a 
candle  !  that  is,  to  fill  a  room  with  tobacco  smoke  till  the 
candle  goes  out.  Pipes  are  quite  the  rage  —  a  pipe  of  a 
particular  kind,  that  has  been  smoked  for  a  year  or  so, 
will  sell  here  for  twenty  guineas  —  the  same  pipe  when 
new  costs  four  or  five.  They  are  called  Meerschaum. 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  Love  !  I  will  soon  write  again. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Postscript.  Perhaps  you  are  in  Bristol.  However,  I 
had  better  direct  it  to  Stowey.  My  love  to  Martha  and 
your  mother  and  your  other  sisters.  Once  more,  my  dear- 
est Love,  God  love  and  preserve  us  through  this  long 
absence  !  O  my  dear  Babies !  my  Babies  ! 

XCTV.   TO   THE   SAME. 

Bei  dem  Radermacher  Gohring,  in  der  Bergstrasse,  Gottingen, 
March  12,  1799.     Sunday  Night. 

MY  DEAEEST  LOVE,  —  It  has  been  a  frightfully  long 
time  since  we  have  heard  from  each  other.  I  have  not 
written,  simply  because  my  letters  could  have  gone  no 
further  than  Cuxhaven,  and  would  have  stayed  there  to 
the  [no]  small  hazard  of  their  being  lost.  Even  now  the 
mouth  of  the  Elbe  is  so  much  choked  with  ice  that  the 


278  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [MARCH 

English  Pacquets  cannot  set  off.  Why  need  I  say  how 
anxious  this  long  interval  of  silence  has  made  me  !  I  have 
thought  and  thought  of  you,  and  pictured  you  and  the 
little  ones  so  often  and  so  often  that  my  imagination  is 
tired  down,  flat  and  powerless,  and  I  languish  after,  home 
for  hours  together  in  vacancy,  my  feelings  almost  wholly 
unqualified  by  thoughts.  I  have  at  times  experienced  such 
an  extinction  of  light  in  my  mind — I  have  been  so  for- 
saken by  all  the  forms  and  colourings  of  existence,  as  if 
the  organs  of  life  had  been  dried  up ;  as  if  only  simply 
Being  remained,  blind  and  stagnant.  After  I  have  re- 
covered from  this  strange  state  and  reflected  upon  it,  I 
have  thought  of  a  man  who  should  lose  his  companion  in 
a  desart  of  sand,  where  his  weary  Halloos  drop  down 
in  the  air  without  an  echo.  I  am  deeply  convinced  that  if 
I  were  to  remain  a  few  years  among  objects  for  whom  I 
had  no  affection  I  should  wholly  lose  the  powers  of  intel- 
lect. Love  is  the  vital  air  of  my  genius,  and  I  have  not 
seen  one  human  being  in  Germany  whom  I  can  conceive 
it  possible  for  me  to  love,  no,  not  one  ;  in  my  mind  they 
are  an  unlovely  race,  these  Germans. 

We  left  Ratzeburg,  Feb.  6,  in  the  Stage  Coach.  This 
was  not  the  coldest  night  of  the  century,  because  the 
night  following  was  two  degrees  colder  —  the  oldest  man 
living  remembers  not  such  a  night  as  Thursday,  Feb.  7. 
This  whole  winter  I  have  heard  incessant  complaints  of 
the  unusual  cold,  but  I  have  felt  very  little  of  it.  But 
that  night !  My  God !  Now  I  know  what  the  pain  of 
cold  is,  and  what  the  danger.  The  pious  care  of  the 
German  Governments  that  none  of  their  loving  subjects 
should  be  suffocated  is  admirable  !  On  Friday  morning 
when  the  light  dawned,  the  Coach  looked  like  a  shapeless 
idol  of  suspicion  with  an  hundred  eyes,  for  there  were  at 
least  so  many  holes  in  it.  And  as  to  rapidity !  We  left 
Ratzeburg  at  7  o'clock  Wednesday  evening,  and  arrived 
at  Liineburg  —  i.  e.,  35  English  miles — at  3  o'clock  on 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  279 

Thursday  afternoon.  This  is  a  fair  specimen  !  In  Eng- 
land I  used  to  laugh  at  the  "  flying  waggons  ;  "  but,  com- 
pared with  a  German  Post  Coach,  the  metaphor  is  per- 
fectly justifiable,  and  for  the  future  I  shall  never  meet  a 
flying  waggon  without  thinking  respectfully  of  its  speed. 
The  whole  country  from  Ratzeburg  almost  to  Einbeck  — 
i.  e.,  155  English  miles  —  is  a  flat,  objectless,  hungry 
heath,  bearing  no  marks  of  cultivation,  except  close  by 
the  towns,  and  the  only  remarks  which  suggested  them- 
selves to  me  were  that  it  was  cold  —  very  cold  —  shock- 
ing cold  —  never  felt  it  so  cold  in  my  life  !  Hanover  is 
115  miles  from  Ratzeburg.  We  arrived  there  Saturday 
evening. 

The  Herr  von  Dbring,  a  nobleman  who  resides  at  Ratze- 
burg, gave  me  letters  to  his  brother-in-law  at  Hanover,  and 
by  the  manner  in  which  he  received  me  I  found  that  they 
were  not  ordinary  letters  of  recommendation.  He  pressed 
me  exceedingly  to  stay  a  week  in  Hanover,  but  I  refused, 
and  left  it  on  Monday  noon.  In  the  mean  time,  however, 
he  had  introduced  me  to  all  the  great  people  and  presented 
me  "  as  an  English  gentleman  of  first-rate  character  and 
talents  "  to  Baron  Steinburg,  the  Minister  of  State,  and 
to  Von  Brandes,  the  Secretary  of  State  and  Governor  of 
Gottingen  University.  The  first  was  amazingly  perpen- 
dicular, but  civil  and  polite,  and  gave  me  letters  to  Heyne, 
the  head  Librarian,  and,  in  truth,  the  real  Governor  of 
Gottingen.  Brandes  likewise  gave  me  letters  to  Heyne 
and  Blumenbach,  who  are  his  brothers-in-law.  Baron 
Steinburg  offered  to  present  me  to  the  Prince  (Adolphus), 
who  is  now  in  Hanover ;  but  I  deferred  the  honour  till  my 
return.  I  shall  make  Poole  laugh  when  I  return  with  the 
visiting-card  which  the  Baron  left  at  my  inn. 

The  two  things  worth  seeing  in  Hanover  are  (1)  the 
conduit  representing  Mount  Parnassus,  with  statues  of 
Apollo,  the  Muses,  and  a  great  many  others ;  flying 
horses,  rhinoceroses,  and  elephants,  etc. ;  and  (2)  a  bust 


280  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [MARCH 

of  Leibnitz  —  the  first  for  its  excessive  absurdity,  ugli- 
ness, and  indecency  —  (absolutely  I  could  write  the  most 
humorous  octavo  volume  containing  the  description  of  it 
with  a  commentary)  —  the  second  —  i.  e.  the  bust  of 
Leibnitz  —  impressed  on  my  soul  a  sensation  which  has 
ennobled  it.  It  is  the  face  of  a  god !  and  Leibnitz  was 
almost  more  than  a  man  in  the  wonderful  capaciousness  of 
his  judgment  and  imagination!  Well,  we  left  Hanover 
on  Monday  noon,  after  having  paid  a  most  extravagant 
bill.  We  lived  with  Spartan  frugality,  and  paid  with 
Persian  pomp !  But  I  was  an  Englishman,  and  visited 
by  half  a  dozen  noblemen  and  the  Minister  of  State.  The 
landlord  could  not  dream  of  affronting  me  by  anything 
like  a  reasonable  charge !  On  the  road  we  stopped  with 
the  postillion  always,  and  our  expenses  were  nothing. 
Chester  and  I  made  a  very  hearty  dinner  of  cold  beef, 
etc.,  and  both  together  paid  only  fourpence,  and  for  coffee 
and  biscuits  only  threepence  each.  In  short,  a  man  may 
travel  cheap  in  Germany,  but  he  must  avoid  great  towns 
and  not  be  visited  by  Ministers  of  State. 

In  a  village  some  four  miles  from  Einbeck  we  stopped 
about  4  o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  pitch  dark,  and 
the  postillion  led  us  into  a  room  where  there  was  not  a 
ray  of  light  —  we  could  not  see  our  hand  —  but  it  felt  ex- 
tremely warm.  At  length  and  suddenly  the  lamp  came, 
and  we  saw  ourselves  in  a  room  thirteen  strides  in  length, 
strew'd  with  straw,  and  lying  by  the  side  of  each  other 
on  the  straw  twelve  Jews.  I  assure  you  it  was  curious. 
Their  dogs  lay  at  their  feet.  There  was  one  very  beauti- 
ful boy  among  them,  fast  asleep,  with  the  softest  conceiv- 
able opening  of  the  mouth,  with  the  white  beard  of  his 
grandfather  upon  his  cheek  —  a  fair,  rosy  cheek. 

This  day  I  called  with  my  letters  on  the  Professor 
Heyne,  a  little,  hopping,  over-civil  sort  of  a  thing,  who 
talks  very  fast  and  with  fragments  of  coughing  between 
every  ten  words.  However,  he  behaved  very  courteously 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  281 

to  me.  The  next  day  I  took  out  my  matricula,  and  com- 
menced student  of  the  University  of  Gottingen.  Heyne 
has  honoured  me  so  far  that  he  has  given  me  the  right, 
which  properly  only  professors  have,  of  sending  to  the 
Library  for  an  indefinite  number  of  books  in  my  own 
name. 

On  Saturday  evening  I  went  to  the  concert.  Here  the 
other  Englishmen  introduced  themselves.  After  the  con- 
cert Hamilton,  a  Cambridge  man,  took  me  as  his  guest  to 
the  Saturday  Club,  where  what  is  called  the  first  class  of 
students  meet  and  sup  once  a  week.  Here  were  all  the 
nobility  and  three  Englishmen.  Such  an  evening  I  never 
passed  before  —  roaring,  kissing,  embracing,  fighting, 
smashing  bottles  and  glasses  against  the  wall,  singing  — 
in  short,  such  a  scene  of  uproar  I  never  witnessed  before, 
no,  not  even  at  Cambridge.  I  drank  nothing,  but  all  ex- 
cept two  of  the  Englishmen  were  drunk,  and  the  party 
broke  up  a  little  after  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I 
thought  of  what  I  had  been  at  Cambridge  and  of  what  I 
was,  of  the  wild  bacchanalian  sympathy  with  which  I  had 
formerly  joined  similar  parties,  and  of  my  total  inability 
now  to  do  aught  but  meditate,  and  the  feeling  of  the  deep 
alteration  in  my  moral  being  gave  the  scene  a  melancholy 
interest  to  me. 

We  are  quite  well.  Chester  will  write  soon  to  his 
family ;  in  the  mean  time  he  sends  duty,  love,  and  remem- 
brance to  all  to  whom  they  are  due.  I  have  drunk  no 
wine  or  fermented  liquor  for  more  than  three  months,  in 
consequence  of  which  I  am  apt  to  be  wakeful ;  but  then  I 
never  feel  any  oppression  after  dinner,  and  my  spirits  are 
much  more  equable,  blessings  which  I  esteem  inestimable ! 
My  dear  Hartley  —  my  Berkeley  —  how  intensely  do  I 
long  for  you !  My  Sara,  O  my  dear  Sara !  To  Poole, 
God  bless  him !  to  dear  Mrs.  Poole  and  Ward,  kindest 
love,  and  to  all  love  and  remembrance. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


282  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [APRIL 

XCV.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

April  6,  1799. 

MY  DEAREST  POOLE,  —  Your  two  letters,  dated  Janu- 
ary 24  and  March  15,1  followed  close  on  each  other.  1 
was  still  enjoying  "  the  livelier  impulse  and  the  dance  of 
thought "  which  the  first  had  given  me  when  I  received 
the  second.  At  the  time,  in  which  I  read  Sara's  lively 
account  of  the  miseries  which  herself  and  the  infant  had 
undergone,  all  was  over  and  well  —  there  was  nothing  to 
think  of  —  only  a  mass  of  pain  was  brought  suddenly  and 
closely  within  the  sphere  of  my  perception,  and  I  was 
made  to  suffer  it  over  again.  For  this  bodily  frame  is  an 
imitative  thing,  and  touched  by  the  imagination  gives  the 
hour  which  is  past  as  faithfully  as  a  repeating  watch.  But 
Death  —  the  death  of  an  infant  —  of  one's  own  infant !  I 
read  your  letter  in  calmness,  and  walked  out  into  the  open 
fields,  oppressed,  not  by  my  feelings,  bnt  by  tfrft  'rj^jfllftg 
which  the  thought  so  easily  proposes,  and  solves  —  never ! 

1  A  letter  from  Mrs.  Coleridge  to  Samuel,  it  is  a  suffering1  beyond  your 
her  husband,  dated  March  25,  1799,  conception !  You  will  feel  and  la- 
followed  Poole's  letter  of  March  15.  ment  the  death  of  your  child,  but 
(Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,  i.  you  will  only  recollect  him  a  baby 
290.)  She  writes  :  —  of  fourteen  weeks,  but  I  am  his 

"  MY   DEAREST   LOVE,  —  I   hope  mother  and  have  carried  him  in  my 

you  will  not  attribute  my  long   si-  arms  and  have  fed  him  at  my  bosom, 

lence  to  want  of  affection.     If  you  and  have  watched  over  him  by  day 

have  received  Mr.  Poole's  letter  you  and  by  night  for  nine  months.     I 

•will  know  the  reason  and  acquit  me.  have  seen  him  twice  at  the  brink  of 

My  darling  infant  left  his  wretched  the  grave,  but  he  has  returned  and 

mother  on  the   10th   of   February,  recovered  and  smiled  upon  me  like 

and  though  the  leisure  that  followed  an  angel, —  and  now  I  am  lamenting 

was  intolerable  to  me,  yet  I  could  that  he  is  gone  !  " 

not  employ  myself    in   reading  or  In  her  old  age,  when  her  daughter 

writing,   or  in   any  way  that  pre-  was  collecting  materials  for  a  life  of 

vented  my  thoughts  from  resting  on  her  father,  Mrs.  Coleridge  wrote  on 

him.     This  parting  was  the  severest  the  back  of  the  letter :  — 

trial  that  I  have  ever   yet  under-  "  No  secrets  herein.     I  will    not 

gone,  and  I  pray  to  God  that  I  may  burn  it  for  the  sake  of   my  sweet 

never  live  to  behold  the  death  of  Berkeley." 
another    child.      For,    O  my    dear 


1799]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  283 

A  parent  —  in  the  strict  and  exclusive  sense  a  parent !  — 
to  me  it  is  a  fable  wholly  without  meaning  except  in  the 
moral  which  it  suggests  —  a  fable  of  which  the  moral  is 
God.  Be  it  so  —  my  dear,  dear  friend  !  Oh  let  it  be  so ! 
La  Nature  (says  Pascal)  "  La  Nature  confond  les  Pyr- 
rhoniens,  et  la  Raison  confond  les  Dogmatistes.  Nous 
avons  une  impuissance  a  prouver  invincible  a  tout  le  Dog- 
matisme.  Nous  avons  une  idee  de  la  verite  invincible 
a  tout  le  Pyrrhonisme."  I  find  it  wise  and  human  to 
believe,  even  on  slight  evidence,  opinions,  the  contrary  of 
which  cannot  be  proved,  and  which  promote  our  happiness 
without  hampering  our  intellect.  My  baby  has  not  lived 
in  vain  —  this  life  has  been  to  him  what  it  is  to  all  of  us 
—  education  and  development!  Fling  yourself  forward 
into  your  immortality  only  a  few  thousand  years,  and  how 
small  will  not  the  difference  between  one  year  old  and 
sixty  years  appear !  Consciousness  !  —  it  is  no  otherwise 
necessary  to  our  conceptions  of  future  continuance  than  as 
connecting  the  present  link  of  our  being  with  the  one  im- 
mediately preceding  it ;  and  that  degree  of  consciousness, 
that  small  portion  of  memory ',  it  would  not  only  be  arro- 
gant, but  in  the  highest  degree  absurd,  to  deny  even  to  a 
much  younger  infant.  'T  is  a  strange  assertion  that  the 
essence  of  identity  lies  in  recollective  consciousness. 
'Twere  scarcely  less  ridiculous  to  affirm  that  the  eight 
miles  from  Stowey  to  Bridgwater  consist  in  the  eight  mile- 
stones. Death  in  a  doting  old  age  falls  upon  my  feelings 
ever  as  a  more  hopeless  phenomenon  than  death  in  infancy ; 
but  nothing  is  hopeless.  What  if  the  vital  force  which  I 
sent  from  my  arm  into  the  stone  as  I  flung  it  in  the  air 
and  skimmed  it  upon  the  water  —  what  if  even  that  did 
not  perish !  It  was  life  !  —  it  was  a  particle  of  being  !  — 
it  was  power !  and  how  could  it  perish  ?  Life,  Power, 
Being  !  Organization  may  and  probably  is  their  effect  — 
their  cause  it  cannot  be  !  I  have  indulged  very  curious 
fancies  concerning  that  force,  that  swarm  of  motive  powers 


284  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [APRIL 

which  I  sent  out  of  my  body  into  that  stone,  and  which, 
one  by  one,  left  the  untractable  or  already  possessed  mass, 
and  —  but  the  German  Ocean  lies  between  us.  It  is  all 
too  far  to  send  you  such  fancies  as  these  !  Grief,  in- 
deed, — 

Doth  love  to  dally  with  fantastic  thoughts, 
And  smiling  like  a  sickly  Moralist, 
Finds  some  resemblance  to  her  own  concern 
In  the  straws  of  chance,  and  things  inanimate.1 

But  I  cannot  truly  say  that  I  grieve  —  I  am  perplexed 
—  I  am  sad  —  and  a  little  thing  —  a  very  trifle  —  would 
make  me  weep  —  but  for  the  death  of  the  baby  I  have 
not  wept !  Oh  this  strange,  strange,  strange  scene-shifter 
Death  !  —  that  giddies  one  with  insecurity  and  so  unsub- 
stantiates  the  living  things  that  one  has  grasped  and  han- 
dled !  Some  months  ago  Wordsworth  transmitted  me  a 
most  sublime  epitaph.  Whether  it  had  any  reality  I  can- 
not say.  Most  probably,  in  some  gloomier  moment  he  had 
fancied  the  moment  in  which  his  sister  might  die. 

EPITAPH. 

A  slumber  did  my  spirit  seal, 

I  had  no  human  fears  ; 

She  seemed  a  thing  that  could  not  feel 

The  touch  of  earthly  years. 

No  motion  has  she  now,  no  force, 

She  neither  hears  nor  sees : 

Mov'd  round  in  Earth's  diurnal  course 

With  rocks,  and  stones,  and  trees  I 

XCVI.    TO   HIS   WIFE. 

GOTTINGEN,  in  der  Wondestrasse,  April  8,  1799. 

It  is  one  of  the  discomforts  of  my  absence,  my  dearest 
Love !  that  we  feel  the  same  calamities  at  different  times  — 
I  would  fain  write  words  of  consolation  to  you ;  yet  I 
know  that  I  shall  only  fan  into  new  activity  the  pang 
which  was  growing  dead  and  dull  in  your  heart.  Dear 
1  From  "  Osorio,"  Act  V.  Sc.  1.  Poetical  Works,  p.  506. 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  285 

little  Being !  he  had  existed  to  me  for  so  many  months 
only  in  dreams  and  reveries,  but  in  them  existed  and  still 
exists  so  livelily,  so  like  a  real  thing,  that  although  I  know 
of  his  death,  yet  when  I  am  alone  and  have  been  long 
silent,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  did  not  understand  it.  Me- 
thinks  there  is  something  awful  in  the  thought,  what  an 
unknown  being  one's  own  infant  is  to  one  —  a  fit  of 
sound — a  flash  of  light — a  summer  gust  that  is  as  it  were 
created  in  the  bosom  of  the  calm  air,  that  rises  up  we 
know  not  how,  and  goes  we  know  not  whither !  But  we 
say  well ;  it  goes !  it  is  gone !  and  only  in  states  of  society 
in  which  the  revealing  voice  of  our  most  inward  and 
abiding  nature  is  no  longer  listened  to  (when  we  sport 
and  juggle  with  abstract  phrases,  instead  of  representing 
our  feelings  and  ideas),  only  then  we  say  it  ceases !  I 
will  not  believe  that  it  ceases  —  in  this  moving,  stirring, 
and  harmonious  universe  —  I  cannot  believe  it !  Can 
cold  and  darkness  come  from  the  sun  ?  where  the  sun  is 
not,  there  is  cold  and  darkness  !  But  the  living  God  is 
everywhere,  and  works  everywhere  —  and  where  is  there 
room  for  death  ?  To  look  back  on  the  life  of  my  baby, 
how  short  it  seems  !  but  consider  it  referently  to  non- 
existence,  and  what  a  manifold  and  majestic  Thing  does 
it  not  become  ?  What  a  multitude  of  admirable  actions, 
what  a  multitude  of  habits  of  actions  it  learnt  even  before 
it  saw  the  light!  and  who  shall  count  or  conceive  the 
infinity  of  its  thoughts  and  feelings,  its  hopes,  and  fears, 
and  joys,  and  pains,  and  desires,  and  presentiments,  from 
the  moment  of  its  birth  to  the  moment  when  the  glass, 
through  which  we  saw  him  darkly,  was  broken  —  and  he 
became  suddenly  invisible  to  us  ?  Out  of  the  Mount  that 
might  not  be  touched,  and  that  burnt  with  fire,  out  of 
darkness,  and  blackness,  and  tempest,  and  with  his  own 
Voice,  which  they  who  heard  entreated  that  they  might 
not  hear  it  again,  the  most  high  God  forbade  us  to  use  his 
name  vainly.  And  shall  we  who  are  Christians,  shall  we 


286  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [APRIL 

believe  that  he  himself  uses  his  own  power  vainly  ?  That 
like  a  child  he  builds  palaces  of  mud  and  clay  in  the 
common  road,  and  then  he  destroys  them,  as  weary  of  his 
pastime,  or  leaves  them  to  be  trod  under  by  the  hoof  of 
Accident  ?  That  God  works  by  general  laws  are  to  me 
words  without  meaning  or  worse  than  meaningless  — 
ignorance,  and  imbecility,  and  limitation  must  wish  in 
generals.  What  and  who  are  these  horrible  shadows 
necessity  and  general  law,  to  which  God  himself  must 
offer  sacrifices  —  hecatombs  of  sacrifices  ?  I  feel  a  deep 
conviction  that  these  shadows  exist  not  —  they  are  only  the 
dreams  of  reasoning  pride,  that  would  fain  find  solutions 
for  all  difficulties  without  faith  —  that  would  make  the 
discoveries  which  lie  thick  sown  in  the  path  of  the  eternal 
Future  unnecessary ;  and  so  conceiting  that  there  is  suffi- 
ciency and  completeness  in  the  narrow  present,  weakens 
the  presentiment  of  our  wide  and  ever  widening  immor- 
tality. God  works  in  each  for  all  —  most  true  —  but 
more  comprehensively  true  is  it,  that  he  works  in  all  for 
each.  I  confess  that  the  more  I  think,  the  more  I  am  dis- 
contented with  the  doctrines  of  Priestley.  He  builds  the 
whole  and  sole  hope  of  future  existence  on  the  words  and 
miracles  of  Jesus  —  yet  doubts  or  denies  the  future  exist- 
ence of  infants  —  only  because  according  to  his  own  sys- 
tem of  materialism  he  has  not  discovered  how  they  can  be 
made  conscious.  But  Jesus  has  declared  that  all  who 
are  in  the  grave  shall  arise  —  and  that  those  who  should 
arise  to  perceptible  progression  must  be  ever  as  the  infant 
which  He  held  in  his  arms  and  blessed.  And  although 
the  Man  Jesus  had  never  appeared  in  the  world,  yet  I  am 
Quaker  enough  to  believe,  that  in  the  heart  of  every  man 
the  Christ  would  have  revealed  himself,  the  Power  of  the 
Word,  that  was  even  in  the  wilderness.  To  me  who  am 
absent  this  faith  is  a  real  consolation,  —  and  the  few,  the 
slow,  the  quiet  tears  which  I  shed,  are  the  accompani- 
ments of  high  and  solemn  thought,  not  the  workings  of 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  287 

pain  or  sorrow.  When  I  return  indeed,  and  see  the 
vacancy  that  has  been  made  —  when  nowhere  anything 
corresponds  to  the  form  which  will  perhaps  for  ever  dwell 
on  my  mind,  then  it  is  possible  that  a  keener  pang  will 
come  upon  me.  Yet  I  trust,  my  love  !  I  trust,  my  dear 
Sara !  that  this  event  which  has  forced  us  to  think  of  the 
death  of  what  is  most  dear  to  us,  as  at  all  times  probable, 
will  in  many  and  various  ways  be  good  for  us.  To  have 
shared  —  nay,  I  should  say  —  to  have  divided  with  any 
human  being  any  one  deep  sensation  of  joy  or  of  sorrow, 
sinks  deep  the  foundations  of  a  lasting  love.  When  in 
moments  of  fretfulness  and  imbecility  I  am  disposed  to 
anger  or  reproach,  it  will,  I  trust,  be  always  a  restoring 
thought  —  "  We  have  wept  over  the  same  little  one,"  — 
and  with  whom  I  am  angry?  With  her  who  so  patiently 
and  unweariedly  sustained  my  poor  and  sickly  infant 
through  his  long  pains  —  with  her,  who,  if  I  too  should 
be  called  away,  would  stay  in  the  deep  anguish  over  my 
death-pillow !  who  would  never  forget  me  !  "  Ah,  my 
poor  Berkeley !  A  few  weeks  ago  an  Englishman  desired 
me  to  write  an  epitaph  on  an  infant  who  had  died  before 
its  christening.  While  I  wrote  it,  my  heart  with  a  deep 
misgiving  turned  my  thoughts  homewards. 

ON  AN  INFANT,  WHO  DIED  BEFORE  ITS  CHRISTENING. 

Be  rather  than  be  calVd  a  Child  of  God  ! 

Death  whisper'd.     With  assenting  Nod 

Its  head  upon  the  Mother's  breast 

The  baby  bow'd,  and  went  without  demur, 

Of  the  kingdom  of  the  blest 

Possessor,  not  Inheritor. 

It  refers  to  the  second  question  in  the  Church  Catechism. 
We  are  well,  my  dear  Sara.  I  hope  to  be  home  at  the 
end  of  ten  or  eleven  weeks.  If  you  should  be  in  Bristol, 
you  will  probably  be  shewn  by  Mr.  Estlin  three  letters 
which  I  have  written  to  him  altogether  —  and  one  to 


288  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [APRIL 

Mr.  Wade.  Mr.  Estlin  will  permit  you  to  take  the  let- 
ters to  Stowey  that  Poole  may  see  them,  and  Poole  will 
return  them.  I  have  no  doubt  but  I  shall  repay  myself 
by  the  work  which  I  am  writing,  to  such  an  amount,  that 
I  shall  have  spent  out  of  my  income  only  fifty  pounds  at 
the  end  of  August.  My  love  to  your  sisters  —  and  love 
and  duty  to  your  mother.  God  bless  you,  my  love  !  and 
shield  us  from  deeper  afflictions,  or  make  us  resigned  unto 
them  (and  perhaps  the  latter  blessedness  is  greater  than 
the  former). 

Your  affectionate  and  faithful  husband, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XCVII.     TO   THE   SAME. 

April  23,  1799. 

MY  DEAR  SARA,  —  Surely  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to 
say  how  infinitely  I  languish  to  be  in  my  native  country, 
and  with  how  many  struggles  I  have  remained  even  so 
long  in  Germany !  I  received  your  affecting  letter,  dated 
Easter  Sunday  ;  and,  had  I  followed  my  impulses,  I  should 
have  packed  up  and  gone  with  Wordsworth  and  his  sister, 
who  passed  through  (and  only  passed  through)  this  place 
two  or  three  days  ago.  If  they  burn  with  such  impatience 
to  return  to  their  native  country,  they  who  are  all  to  each 
other,  what  must  I  feel  with  everything  pleasant  and 
everything  valuable  and  everything  dear  to  me  at  a  dis- 
tance —  here,  where  I  may  truly  say  my  only  amusement 
is  —  to  labour  !  But  it  is,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the 
word,  impossible  to  collect  what  I  have  to  collect  in  less 
than  six  weeks  from  this  day ;  yet  I  read  and  transcribe 
from  eight  to  ten  hours  every  day.  Nothing  could  sup- 
port me  but  the  knowledge  that  if  I  return  now  we  shall 
be  embarrassed  and  in  debt ;  and  the  moral  certainty  that 
having  done  what  I  am  doing  we  shall  be  more  than 
cleared  —  not  to  add  that  so  large  a  work  with  so  great  a 
quantity  and  variety  of  information  from  sources  so  scat- 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  289 

tered  and  so  little  known,  even  in  Germany,  will  of  course 
establish  my  character  for  industry  and  erudition  cer- 
tainly ;  and,  I  would  fain  hope,  for  reflection  and  genius. 
This  day  in  June  I  hope  and  trust  that  I  shall  be  in  Eng- 
land. Oh  that  the  vessel  could  but  land  at  Shurton  Bars ! 
Not  that  I  should  wish  to  see  you  and  Poole  immediately 
on  my  landing.  No !  —  the  sight,  the  touch  of  my  native 
country,  were  sufficient  for  one  whole  feeling,  the  most 
deep  unmingled  emotion  —  but  then  and  after  a  lonely  walk 
of  three  miles  —  then,  first  of  all,  whom  I  knew,  to  see 
you  and  my  Friend  !  It  lessens  the  delight  of  the  thought 
of  my  return  that  I  must  get  at  you  through  a  tribe  of 
acquaintances,  damping  the  freshness  of  one's  joy  !  My 
poor  little  baby !  At  this  time  I  see  the  corner  of  the 
room  where  his  cradle  stood  —  and  his  cradle  too  —  and 
I  cannot  help  seeing  him  in  the  cradle.  Little  lamb ! 
and  the  snow  would  not  melt  on  his  limbs  !  I  have  some 
faint  recollections  that  he  had  that  difficulty  of  breathing 
once  before  I  left  England  —  or  was  it  Hartley ?  "A 
child,  a  child  is  born,  and  the  fond  heart  dances ;  and  yet 
the  childless  are  the  most  happy."  At  Christmas 1 1  saw  a 
custom  which  pleased  and  interested  me  here.  The  chil- 
dren make  little  presents  to  their  parents,  and  to  one  an- 
other, and  the  parents  to  the  children.  For  three  or  four 
months  before  Christmas  the  girls  are  all  busy,  and  the 
boys  save  up  their  pocket-money,  to  make  or  purchase 
these  presents.  What  the  present  is  to  be  is  cautiously 
kept  secret,  and  the  girls  have  a  world  of  contrivances  to 
conceal  it,  such  as  working  when  they  are  at  a  visit,  and 
the  others  are  not  with  them,  and  getting  up  in  the  morn- 
ing long  before  light,  etc.  Then  on  the  evening  before 
Christmas  Day,  one  of  the  parlours  is  lighted  up  by  the 
children,  into  which  the  parents  must  not  go.  A  great  yew 

1  The  following  description  of  the  verbatim,  in  No.  19  of  the  original 
Christmas-tree,  and  of  Knecht  Ru-  issue  of  The  Friend,  December  28, 
pert,  was  originally  published,  almost  1809. 


290  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [APRIL 

bough  is  fastened  on  the  table  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
wall,  a  multitude  of  little  tapers  are  fastened  in  the  bough, 
but  not  so  as  to  burn  it,  till  they  are  nearly  burnt  out,  and 
coloured  paper,  etc.,  hangs  and  flutters  from  the  twigs. 
Under  this  bough  the  children  lay  out  in  great  neatness 
the  presents  they  mean  for  their  parents,  still  concealing 
in  their  pockets  what  they  intend  for  each  other.  Then 
the  parents  are  introduced,  and  each  presents  his  little 
gift  —  and  then  they  bring  out  the  others,  and  present 
them  to  each  other  with  kisses  and  embraces.  Where  I  saw 
the  scene  there  were  eight  or  nine  children  of  different 
ages ;  and  the  eldest  daughter  and  the  mother  wept  aloud 
for  joy  and  tenderness,  and  the  tears  ran  down  the  cheek 
of  the  father,  and  he  clasped  all  his  children  so  tight  to 
his  heart,  as  if  he  did  it  to  stifle  the  sob  that  was  rising 
within  him.  I  was  very  much  affected,  and  the  shadow  of 
the  bough  on  the  wall,  and  arching  over  on  the  ceiling, 
made  a  pretty  picture  —  and  then  the  raptures  of  the 
very  little  ones,  when  at  last  the  twigs  and  thread -leaves 
began  to  catch  fire  and  snap !  Oh  that  was  a  delight  for 
them !  On  the  next  day  in  the  great  parlour  the  parents 
lay  out  on  the  tables  the  presents  for  the  children  ;  a  scene 
of  more  sober  joy  succeeds,  as,  on  this  day,  after  an  old 
custom,  the  mother  says  privately  to  each  of  her  daughters, 
and  the  father  to  each  of  his  sons,  that  which  he  has  ob- 
served most  praiseworthy,  and  that  which  he  has  observed 
most  faulty  in  their  conduct.  Formerly,  and  still  in  all 
the  little  towns  and  villages  through  the  whole  of  North 
Germany,  these  presents  were  sent  by  all  the  parents  of  the 
village  to  some  one  fellow,  who,  in  high  buskins,  a  white 
robe,  a  mask,  and  an  enormous  flax  wig,  personates  Knecht 
Kupert,  that  is,  the  servant  Rupert.  On  Christmas  night 
he  goes  round  to  every  house  and  says  that  Jesus  Christ 
his  Master  sent  him  there ;  the  parents  and  older  children 
receive  him  with  great  pomp  of  reverence,  while  the  little 
ones  are  most  terribly  frightened.  He  then  enquires  for 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  291 

the  children,  and  according  to  the  character  which  he  hears 
from  the  parent  he  gives  them  the  intended  presents,  as  if 
they  came  out  of  Heaven  from  Jesus  Christ ;  or,  if  they 
should  have  been  bad  children,  he  gives  the  parents  a  rod, 
and,  in  the  name  of  his  Master  Jesus,  recommends  them 
to  use  it  frequently.  About  eight  or  nine  years  old,  the 
children  are  let  into  the  secret;  and  it  is  curious,  how 
faithfully  they  all  keep  it.  There  are  a  multitude  of 
strange  superstitions  among  the  bauers  ;  —  these  still  sur- 
vive in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  Clergy,  who  in  the  north 
of  Germany,  that  is,  in  the  Hanoverian,  Saxon,  and  Prus- 
sian dominions,  are  almost  all  Deists.  But  they  make  lit- 
tle or  no  impressions  on  the  bauers,  who  are  wonderfully 
religious  and  fantastically  superstitious,  but  not  in  the 
least  priest-rid.  But  in  the  Catholic  countries  of  Ger- 
many the  difference  is  vast  indeed  !  I  met  lately  an  intel- 
ligent and  calm-minded  man  who  had  spent  a  considerable 
time  at  Marburg  in  the  Bishopric  of  Paderborn  in  West- 
phalia. He  told  me  that  bead-prayers  to  the  Holy  Virgin 
are  universal,  and  universally,  too,  are  magical  powers 
attributed  to  one  particular  formula  of  words  which  are 
absolutely  jargons ;  at  least,  the  words  are  to  be  found  in 
no  known  language.  The  peasants  believe  it,  however,  to 
be  a  prayer  to  the  Virgin,  and  happy  is  the  man  among 
them  who  is  made  confident  by  a  priest  that  he  can  repeat 
it  perfectly ;  for  heaven  knows  what  terrible  calamity 
might  not  happen  if  any  one  should  venture  to  repeat  it 
and  blunder.  Vows  and  pilgrimages  to  particular  images 
are  still  common  among  the  bauers.  If  any  one  dies  be- 
fore the  performance  of  his  vow,  they  believe  that  he  hov- 
ers between  heaven  and  earth,  and  at  times  hobgoblins  his 
relations  till  they  perform  it  for  him.  Particular  saints 
are  believed  to  be  eminently  favourable  to  particular 
prayers,  and  he  assured  me  solemnly  that  a  little  before 
he  left  Marburg  a  lady  of  Marburg  had  prayed  and  given 
money  to  have  the  public  prayers  at  St.  Erasmus's  Chapel 


292  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [APRIL 

to  St.  Erasmus  —  for  what,  think  you  ?  —  that  the  baby, 
with  which  she  was  then  pregnant,  might  be  a  boy  with 
light  hair  and  rosy  cheeks.  When  their  cows,  pigs,  or 
horses  are  sick  they  take  them  to  the  Dominican  monks, 
who  transcribe  texts  out  of  the  holy  books,  and  perform 
exorcisms.  When  men  or  women  are  sick  they  give  largely 
to  the  Convent,  who  on  good  conditions  dress  them  in 
Church  robes,  and  lay  a  particular  and  highly  venerated 
Crucifix  on  their  breast,  and  perform  a  multitude  of  antic 
ceremonies.  In  general,  my  informer  confessed  that  they 
cured  the  persons,  which  he  seemed  to  think  extraordinary, 
but  which  I  think  very  natural.  Yearly  on  St.  Blasius's 
Day  unusual  multitudes  go  to  receive  the  Lord's  Supper ; 
and  while  they  are  receiving  it  the  monks  hold  a  Blasius's 
Taper  (as  it  is  called)  before  the  forehead  of  the  kneeling 
person,  and  then  pray  to  St.  Blasius  to  drive  away  all 
headaches  for  the  ensuing  year.  Their  wishes  are  often 
expressed  in  this  form  :  "  Mary,  Mother  of  God,  make  her 
Son  do  so  and  so."  Yet  with  all  this,  from  every  infor- 
mation which  I  can  collect  (and  I  have  had  many  oppor- 
tunities of  collecting  various  accounts),  the  peasants  in 
the  Catholic  countries  of  Germany,  but  especially  in  Aus- 
tria, are  far  better  off,  and  a  far  happier  and  livelier  race, 
than  those  in  the  Protestant  lands.  ...  I  fill  up  the  sheet 
with  scattered  customs  put  down  in  the  order  in  which  I 
happened  to  see  them.  The  peasant  children,  wherever  I 
have  been,  are  dressed  warm  and  tight,  but  very  ugly ; 
the  dress  looks  a  frock  coat,  some  of  coarse  blue  cloth, 
some  of  plaid,  buttoned  behind  —  the  row  of  buttons  run- 
ning down  the  back,  and  the  seamless,  buttonless  fore-part 
has  an  odd  look.  When  the  peasants  marry,  if  the  girl  is  of 
a  good  character,  the  clergyman  gives  her  a  Virgin  Crown 
(a  tawdry,  ugly  thing  made  of  gold  and  silver  tinsel,  like 
the  royal  crowns  in  shape).  This  they  wear  with  cropped, 
powdered,  and  pomatumed  hair  —  in  short,  the  bride  looks 
ugliness  personified.  While  I  was  at  Ratzeburg  a  girl 


1799]  TO  HIS  WIFE  293 

came  to 'beg  the  pastor  to  let  her  be  married  in  this  crown, 
and  she  had  had  two  bastards !  The  pastor  refused,  of 
course.  I  wondered  that  a  reputable  farmer  should  marry 
her ;  but  the  pastor  told  me  that  where  a  female  bauer  is 
the  heiress,  her  having  had  a  bastard  does  not  much  stand 
in  her  way ;  and  yet,  though  little  or  no  infamy  attaches  to 
it,  the  number  of  bastards  is  but  small  —  two  in  seventy 
has  been  the  average  of  Ratzeburg  among  the  peasants. 
By  the  bye,  the  bells  in  Germany  are  not  rung  as  ours, 
with  ropes,  but  two  men  stand,  one  on  each  side  of  the  bell, 
and  each  pushes  the  bell  away  from  him  with  his  foot.  In 
the  churches,  what  is  a  baptismal  font  in  our  churches  is  a 
great  Angel  with  a  bason  in  his  hand  ;  he  draws  up  and 
down  with  a  chain  like  a  lamp.  In  a  particular  part  of 
the  ceremony  down  comes  the  great  stone  Angel  with  the 
bason,  presenting  it  to  the  pastor,  who,  having  taken  quant, 
suff.,  up  flies  my  Angel  to  his  old  place  in  the  ceiling 
—  you  cannot  conceive  how  droll  it  looked.  The  graves 
in  the  little  village  churchyards  are  in  square  or  paral- 
lelogrammic  wooden  cases  —  they  look  like  boxes  without 
lids  —  and  thorns  and  briars  are  woven  over  them,  as  is 
done  in  some  parts  of  England.  Perhaps  you  recollect 
that  beautiful  passage  in  Jeremy  Taylor's  Holy  Dying, 
"  and  the  Summer  brings  briers  to  bud  on  our  graves." 
The  shepherds  with  iron  soled  boots  walk  before  the  sheep, 
as  in  the  East  —  you  know  our  Saviour  says  —  "  My 
Sheep  follow  me."  So  it  is  here.  The  dog  and  the  shep- 
herd walk  first,  the  shepherd  with  his  romantic  fur,  and 
generally  knitting  a  pair  of  white  worsted  gloves  —  he 
walks  on  and  his  dog  by  him,  and  then  follow  the  sheep 
winding  along  the  roads  in  a  beautiful  stream  !  In  the 
fields  I  observed  a  multitude  of  poles  with  bands  and 
trusses  of  straw  tied  round  the  higher  part  and  the  top  — 
on  enquiry  we  found  that  they  were  put  there  for  the  owls 
to  perch  upon.  And  the  owls  ?  They  catch  the  field 
mice,  who  do  amazing  damage  in  the  light  soil  all  through- 


294  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [MAY 

out  the  north  of  Germany.  The  gallows  near  Gottingen, 
like  that  near  Ratzeburg,  is  three  great  stone  pillars,  square, 
like  huge  tall  chimneys,  and  connected  with  each  other  at 
the  top  by  three  iron  bars  with  hooks  to  them  —  and  near 
them  is  a  wooden  pillar  with  a  wheel  on  the  top  of  it  on 
which  the  head  is  exposed,  if  the  person  instead  of  being 
hung  is  beheaded.  I  was  frightened  at  first  to  see  such  a 
multitude  of  bones  and  skeletons  of  sheep,  oxen,  and 
horses,  and  bones  as  I  imagined  of  men  for  many,  many 
yards  all  round  the  gallows.  I  found  that  in  Germany  the 
hangman  is  by  the  laws  of  the  Empire  infamous  —  these 
hangmen  form  a  caste,  and  their  families  marry  with  each 
other,  etc. — and  that  all  dead  cattle,  who  have  died,  belong 
to  them,  and  are  carried  by  the  owners  to  the  gallows  and 
left  there.  When  their  cattle  are  bewitched,  or  otherwise 
desperately  sick,  the  peasants  take  them  and  tie  them  to 
the  gallows  —  drowned  dogs  and  kittens,  etc.,  are  thrown 
there  —  in  short,  the  grass  grows  rank,  and  yet  the  bones 
overtop  it  (the  fancy  of  human  bones  must,  I  suppose, 
have  arisen  in  my  ignorance  of  comparative  anatomy). 
God  bless  you,  my  Love !  I  will  write  again  speedily. 
When  I  was  at  Ratzeburg  I  wrote  one  wintry  night  in 
bed,  but  never  sent  you,  three  stanzas  which,  I  dare  say, 
you  will  think  very  silly,  and  so  they  are :  and  yet  they 
were  not  written  without  a  yearning,  yearning,  yearning 
Inside  —  for  my  yearning  affects  more  than  my  heart. 
I  feel  it  all  within  me. 

i. 

If  I  had  but  two  little  wings, 

And  were  a  little  feath'ry  bird, 

To  you  I  'd  fly,  my  dear  ! 

But  thoughts  like  these  are  idle  things  — 

And  I  stay  here. 

n. 

But  in  my  sleep  to  you  I  fly : 
I  'm  always  with  you  in  my  sleep  — 


1799]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  295 

The  World  is  all  one's  own. 
But  then  one  wakes  —  And  where  am  I  ?  — 
All,  all  alone ! 

in. 

Sleep  stays  not,  though  a  monarch  bids  : 
So  I  love  to  wake  ere  break  of  day : 
For  though  my  sleep  be  gone, 
Yet  while  't  is  dark,  one  shuts  one's  lids, 
And  still  dreams  on  ! l 

If  Mrs.  Southey  be  with  you,  remember  me  with  all 
kindness  and  thankfulness  for  their  attention  to  you  and 
Hartley.  To  dear  Mrs.  Poole  give  my  filial  love.  My 
love  to  Ward.  Why  should  I  write  the  name  of  Tom 
Poole,  except  for  the  pleasure  of  writing  it  ?  It  grieves 
me  to  the  heart  that  Nanny  is  not  with  you  —  I  cannot 
bear  changes  —  Death  makes  enough ! 

God  bless  you,  my  dear,  dear  wife,  and  believe  me  with 
eagerness  to  clasp  you  to  my  heart,  your  ever  faithful 
husband, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

XCVIII.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

May  6,  1799,  Monday  morn. 

My  dear  Poole,  my  dear  Poole !  —  I  am  homesick.  So- 
ciety is  a  burden  to  me  ;  and  I  find  relief  only  in  labour. 
So  I  read  and  transcribe  from  morning  till  night,  and 
never  in  my  life  have  I  worked  so  hard  as  this  last 
month,  for  indeed  I  must  sail  over  an  ocean  of  matter 
with  almost  spiritual  speed,  to  do  what  I  have  to  do  in 
the  time  in  which  I  will  do  it  or  leave  it  undone !  O 
my  God,  how  I  long  to  be  at  home  !  My  whole  Being 
so  yearns  after  you,  that  when  I  think  of  the  moment  of 
our  meeting,  I  catch  the  fashion  of  German  joy,  rush  into 

1  First  published  in  Annual  An-  Cordomi.  See  Poetical  Works,  p, 
thology  of  1800,  under  the  signature  146,  and  Editor's  Note,  p.  621. 


296  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [MAY 

your  arms,  and  embrace  you.  Methinks  my  hand  would 
swell  if  the  whole  force  of  my  feeling  were  crowded  there. 
Now  the  Spring  conies,  the  vital  sap  of  my  affections 
rises  as  in  a  tree !  And  what  a  gloomy  Spring  !  But  a 
few  days  ago  all  the  new  buds  were  covered  with  snow  ; 
and  everything  yet  looks  so  brown  and  wintry,  that  yes- 
terday the  roses  (which  the  ladies  carried  on  the  ram- 
parts, their  promenade),  beautiful  as  they  were,  so  little 
harmonized  with  the  general  face  of  nature,  that  they 
looked  to  me  like  silk  and  made  roses.  But  these  leaf- 
less Spring  Woods  !  Oh,  how  I  long  to  hear  you  whistle 
to  the  Rippers  ! l  There  are  a  multitude  of  nightingales 
here  (poor  things !  they  sang  in  the  snow).  I  thought 
of  my  own2  verses  on  the  nightingale,  only  because  I 
thought  of  Hartley,  my  only  Child.  Dear  lamb !  I 
hope  he  won't  be  dead  before  I  get  home.  There  are 
moments  in  which  I  have  such  a  power  of  life  within  me, 
such  a  conceit  of  it,  I  mean,  that  I  lay  the  blame  of  my 
child's  death  to  my  absence.  Not  intellectually ;  but  I 
have  a  strange  sort  of  sensation,  as  if,  while  I  was  present, 
none  could  die  whom  I  entirely  loved,  and  doubtless  it 
was  no  absurd  idea  of  yours  that  there  may  be  unions  and 
connections  out  of  the  visible  world. 

Wordsworth  and  his  sister  passed  through  here,  as  I 
have  informed  you.  I  walked  on  with  them  five  English 
miles,  and  spent  a  day  with  them.  They  were  melancholy 
and  hypped.  W.  was  affected  to.  tears  at  the  thought 
of  not  being  near  me  —  wished  me  of  course  to  live  in 
the  North  of  England  near  Sir  Frederick  Vane's  great 
library.3  I  told  him  that,  independent  of  the  expense  of 
removing,  and  the  impropriety  of  taking  Mrs.  Coleridge 

1  The  men  who  rip  the  oak  bark     His  little  hand,  the  small  forefinger  up, 
from  the  logs  for  tanning.  And  bid  us  listen- 

2  My  dear  babe,  —"The   Nightingale,   a  Conversa- 

Who  capable  of  no  articulate  sound,  ^  p          „  ^.^  jn  A     a 
Mars  all  things  with  his  imitative  lisp, 

How  he  would  place  his  hand  beside  his  Poetical  Works,  p.  133- 

ear,  8  Button  Hall,  near  Penrith. 


1799]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  297 

to  a  place  where  she  would  have  no  acquaintance,  two 
insurmountable  objections,  the  library  was  no  inducement 
to  me  —  for  I  wanted  old  books  chiefly,  such  as  could  be 
procured  anywhere  better  than  in  a  gentleman's  new 
fashionable  collection.  Finally  I  told  him  plainly  that 
you  had  been  the  man  in  whom  first  and  in  whom  alone 
I  had  felt  an  anchor  !  With  all  my  other  connections  I 
felt  a  dim  sense  of  insecurity  and  uncertainty,  terribly 
incompatible.  "W.  was  affected  to  tears,  very  much  af- 
fected ;  but  he  deemed  the  vicinity  of  a  library  absolutely 
necessary  to  his  health,  nay  to  his  existence.  It  is  pain- 
ful to  me,  too,  to  think  of  not  living  near  him ;  for  he  is 
a  good  and  kind  man,  and  the  only  one  whom  in  all 
things  I  feel  my  superior  —  and  you  will  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  I  have  few  feelings  more  pleasurable  than  to 
find  myself,  in  intellectual  faculties,  an  inferior. 

But  my  resolve  is  fixed,  not  to  leave  you  till  you  leave 
me  !  I  still  think  that  Wordsworth  will  be  disappointed 
in  his  expectation  of  relief  from  reading  without  society ; 
and  I  think  it  highly  probable  that  where  I  live,  there  he 
will  live ;  unless  he  should  find  in  the  North  any  person 
or  persons,  who  can  feel  and  understand  him,  and  recip- 
rocate and  react  on  him.  My  many  weaknesses  are  of 
some  advantage  to  me  ;  they  unite  me  more  with  the 
great  mass  of  my  fellow-beings  —  but  dear  Wordsworth 
appears  to  me  to  have  hurtfully  segregated  and  isolated 
his  being.  Doubtless  his  delights  are  more  deep  and 
sublime ;  but  he  has  likewise  more  hours  that  prey  upon 
the  flesh  and  blood.  With  regard  to  Hancock's  house,  if 
I  can  get  no  place  within  a  mile  or  two  of  Stowey  I  must 
try  to  get  that ;  but  I  confess  I  like  it  not  —  not  to  say 
that  it  is  not  altogether  pleasant  to  live  directly  opposite 
to  a  person  who  had  behaved  so  rudely  to  Mrs.  Coleridge. 
But  these  are  in  the  eye  of  reason  trifles,  and  if  no  other 
house  can  be  got  —  in  my  eye,  too,  they  shall  be  trifles. 


298  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [MAY 

O  Poole !  I  am  homesick.  Yesterday,  or  rather  yes- 
ternight, I  dittied  the  following  horrible  ditty ;  but  my 
poor  Muse  is  quite  gone  —  perhaps  she  may  return  and 
meet  me  at  Stowey. 

'T  is  sweet  to  him  who  all  the  week 
Through  city-crowds  must  push  his  way, 
To  stroll  alone  through  fields  and  woods, 
And  hallow  thus  the  Sabbath-day. 

And  sweet  it  is,  in  summer  bower, 
Sincere,  affectionate,  and  gay, 
One's  own  dear  children  feasting  round, 
To  celebrate  one's  marriage  day. 

But  what  is  all  to  his  delight, 
Who  having  long  been  doomed  to  roam, 
Throws  off  the  bundle  from  his  back, 
Before  the  door  of  his  own  home  ? 

Home-sickness  is  no  baby  pang  — 

This  feel  I  hourly  more  and  more : 

There  's  only  musick  in  thy  wings, 

Thou  breeze  that  play'st  on  Albion's  Shore.1 

The  Professors  here  are  exceedingly  kind  to  all  the 
Englishmen,  but  to  me  they  pay  the  most  flattering  atten- 
tions, especially  Blumenbach  and  Eichhorn.  Nothing  can 
be  conceived  more  delightful  than  Blumenbach's  lectures, 
and,  in  conversation,  he  is,  indeed,  a  most  interesting 
man.  The  learned  Orientalist  Tychsen  2  has  given  me 
instruction  in  the  Gothic  and  Theotuscan  languages, 
which  I  can  now  read  pretty  well ;  and  hope  in  the  course 

1  First  published  in   the  Annual  "  Stammbuch  "  of  the  Wernigerode 

Anthology   of    1800.      See    Poetical  Inn.     Early  Years,  i.  66. 

Works,  p.  146,  and  Editor's  Note,  p.  2  Olans  Tychsen,  1734-1815,  was 

621.    According-  to  Carlyon  the  lines  "Professor  of  Oriental  Tongues  "  at 

were  dictated  by  Coleridge  and  in-  Rostock,  in  Mecklenburg-Schwerin. 
scribed  by  one  of  the  party  in  the 


1799]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  299 

of  a  year  to  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  the  lan- 
guages of  the  North,  both  German  and  Celtic.  I  find 
being  learned  is  a  mighty  easy  thing,  compared  with  any 
study  else.  My  God  !  a  miserable  poet  must  he  be,  and 
a  despicable  metaphysician,  whose  acquirements  have  not 
cost  him  more  trouble  and  reflection  than  all  the  learning 
of  Tooke,  Person,  and  Parr  united.  With  the  advantage 
of  a  great  library,  learning  is  nothing  —  methinks,  merely 
a  sad  excuse  for  being  idle.  Yet  a  man  gets  reputation 
by  it,  and  reputation  gets  money ;  and  for  reputation  I 
don't  care  a  damn,  but  money  —  yes  —  money  I  must  get 
by  all  honest  ways.  Therefore  at  the  end  of  two  or  three 
years,  if  God  grant  me  life,  expect  to  see  me  come  out 
with  some  horribly  learned  book,  full  of  manuscript  quota- 
tions from  Laplandish  and  Patagonian  authors,  possibly, 
on  the  striking  resemblance  of  the  Sweogothian  and  San- 
scrit languages,  and  so  on  !  N.  B.  Whether  a  sort  of 
parchment  might  not  be  made  of  old  shoes ;  and  whether 
apples  should  not  be  grafted  on  oak  saplings,  as  the  fruit 
would  be  the  same  as  now,  but  the  wood  far  more  valu- 
able? Two  ideas  of  mine.  —  To  extract  aquafortis  from 
cucumbers  is  a  discovery  not  yet  made,  but  sugar  from  [/ 
bete,  oh !  all  Germany  is  mad  about  it.  I  have  seen  the 
sugar  sent  to  Blumenbach  from  Achard  l  the  great  chem- 
ist, and  it  is  good  enough.  They  say  that  an  hundred 
pounds  weight  of  bete  will  make  twelve  pounds  of  sugar, 
and  that  there  is  no  expense  in  the  preparation.  It  is  the 
Seta  altissima,  belongs  to  the  Beta  vulgaris,  and  in  Ger- 
many is  called  Runkelriibe.  Its  leaves  resemble  those  of 
the  common  red  bete.  It  is  in  shape  like  a  clumsy  nine 
pin  and  about  the  size  of  a  middling  turnip.  The  flesh 
is  white  but  has  rings  of  a  reddish  cast,  I  will  bring  over 
a  quantity  of  the  seed. 

1  F.  C.  Achard,  born  in  1754,  was     sugar,  molasses,    and   vinous   spirit 
author  of  an  "  Instruction  for  making    from  Beet-root. " 


300  A  VISIT  TO  GERMANY  [MAY 

A  stupid  letter !  —  I  believe  my  late  proficiency  in 
learning  has  somewhat  stupified  me,  but  live  in  hopes  of 
one  better  worth  postage.  In  the  last  week  of  June,  I 
trust,  you  will  see  me.  Chester  is  well  and  desires  love 
and  duty  to  his  family.  To  your  dear  Mother  and  to 
Ward  give  my  kind  love,  and  to  all  who  ask  after  me. 

My  dear  Poole  !  don't  let  little  Hartley  die  before  I 
come  home.  That 's  silly  —  true  —  and  I  burst  into  tears 
as  I  wrote  it.  Yours 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


CHAPTEK  V 

FROM   SOUTH  TO  NORTH 
1799-1800 

XCIX.    TO   ROBERT   SOTJTHEY. 

NETHER  STOWEY,  July  29, 1799. 

I  AM  doubtful,  Southey,  whether  the  circumstances 
which  impel  me  to  write  to  you  ought  not  to  keep  me 
silent,  and,  if  it  were  only  a  feeling  of  delicacy,  I  should 
remain  silent,  for  it  is  good  to  do  all  things  in  faith. 
But  I  have  been  absent,  Southey !  ten  months,  and  if  you 
knew  that  domestic  affection  was  hard  upon  me,  and  that 
my  own  health  was  declining,  would  you  not  have  shoot- 
ings within  you  of  an  affection  which  ("  though  fallen, 
though  changed  ")  has  played  too  important  a  part  in  the 
event  of  our  lives  and  the  formation  of  our  character, 
ever  to  be  forgotten  ?  I  am  perplexed  what  to  write,  or 
how  to  state  the  object  of  my  writing.  Any  participation 
in  each  other's  moral  being  I  do  not  wish,  simply  because 
I  know  enough  of  the  mind  of  man  to  know  that  [it]  is 
impossible.  But,  Southey,  we  have  similar  talents,  senti- 
ments nearly  similar,  and  kindred  pursuits ;  we  have  like- 
wise, in  more  than  one  instance,  common  objects  of  our 
esteem  and  love.  I  pray  and  intreat  you,  if  we  should 
meet  at  any  time,  let  us  not  withhold  from  each  other  the 
outward  expressions  of  daily  kindliness ;  and  if  it  be  no 
longer  in  your  power  to  soften  your  opinions,  make  your 
feelings  at  least  more  tolerant  towards  me  —  (a  debt  of 
humility  which  assuredly  we  all  of  us  owe  to  our  most 
feeble,  imperfect,  and  self -deceiving  nature).  We  are 


304  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [SEPT. 

few  of  us  good  enough  to  know  our  own  hearts,  and  as  to 
the  hearts  of  others,  let  us  struggle  to  hope  that  they  are 
better  than  we  think  them,  and  resign  the  rest  to  our 
common  Maker.  God  bless  you  and  yours. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

[Southey's  answer  to  this  appeal  has  not  been  preserved, 
but  its  tenor  was  that  Coleridge  had  slandered  him  to 
others.  In  his  reply  Coleridge  "  avers  on  his  honour  as  a 
man  and  a  gentleman  "  that  he  never  charged  Southey 
with  "  aught  but  deep  and  implacable  enmity  towards  him- 
self," and  that  his  authorities  for  this  accusation  were 
those  on  whom  Southey  relied,  that  is,  doubtless,  Lloyd 
and  Lamb.  He  appeals  to  Poole,  the  "  repository "  of 
his  every  thought,  and  to  Wordsworth,  "  with  whom  he 
had  been  for  more  than  one  whole  year  almost  daily  and 
frequently  for  weeks  together,"  to  bear  him  out  in  this 
statement.  A  letter  from  Poole  to  Southey  dated  August 
8,  and  forwarded  to  Minehead  by  "special  messenger," 
bears  ample  testimony  to  Coleridge's  disavowal.  "  With- 
out entering  into  particulars,"  he  writes,  "  I  will  say  gen- 
erally, that  in  the  many  conversations  I  have  had  with 
Coleridge  concerning  yourself,  he  has  never  discovered 
the  least  personal  enmity  against,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
the  strongest  affection  for  you  stifled  only  by  the  unto- 
ward events  of  your  separation."  Poole's  intervention 
was  successful,  and  once  again  the  cottage  opened  its 
doors  to  a  distinguished  guest.  The  Southeys  remained 
as  visitors  at  Stowey  until,  in  company  with  their  host, 
they  set  out  for  Devonshire.] 


1799]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  305 


C.   TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

EXETEK,  Southey's  Lodgings,  Mr.  Tucker's,  Fore  Street  Hill, 
September  16,  1799.1 

MY  DEAR  POOLE,  —  Here  I  am  just  returned  from  a 
little  tour2  of  five  days,  having  seen  rocks  and  waterfalls, 
and  a  pretty  river  or  two ;  some  wide  landscapes,  and  a 
multitude  of  ash-tree  dells,  and  the  blue  waters  of  the 
"  roaring  sea,"  as  little  Hartley  says,  who  on  Friday  fell 
down  stairs  and  injured  his  arm.  'T  is  swelled  and 
sprained,  but,  God  be  praised,  not  broken.  The  views  of 
Totness  and  Dartmouth  are  among  the  most  impressive 
things  I  have  ever  seen  ;  but  in  general  what  of  Devon- 
shire I  have  lately  seen  is  tame  to  Quantock,  Porlock, 
Culbone,  and  Linton.  So  much  for  the  country !  Now 
as  to  the  inhabitants  thereof,  they  are  bigots,  unalphabeted 
in  the  first  feelings  of  liberality ;  of  course  in  all  they  speak 
and  all  they  do  not  speak,  they  give  good  reasons  for  the 
opinions  which  they  hold,  viz.  they  hold  the  propriety  of 
slavery,  an  opinion  which,  being  generally  assented  to  by 
Englishmen,  makes  Pitt  and  Paul  the  first  among  the 
moral  fitnesses  of  things.  I  have  three  brothers,  that  is 
to  say,  relations  by  gore.  Two  are  parsons  and  one  is  a 

1  The  Coleridges  were  absent  from  ing  Bovey  waterfall  [Becky  Fall], 
Stowey  for  about   a  month.      For  through    that    wild    dell    of    ashes 
the  first  fortnight  they  were  guests  which  leads  to  Ashburton,  most  like 
of  George  Coleridge  at  Ottery.     The  the  approach  to  upper  Matterdale. " 
latter  part  of  the  time  was  spent  with  "  I  have,"  he  adds,  "  at  this  moment 
the    Southeys  in   their   lodgings   at  very   distinct   visual   impressions  of 
Exeter.     It  was  during  this  second  the    tour,    namely   of    Torbay,    the 
visit    that    Coleridge    accompanied  village  of   Paignton  with  the   Cas- 
Southey  on  a  walking  tour  through  tie."     Southey  was  disappointed  in 
part  of  Dartmoor  and  as  far  as  Dart-  South    Devon,   which    he   contrasts 
mouth.  unfavourably    with    the     North    of 

2  Coleridge   took   but   few    notes  Somersetshire,  but  for  "  the  dell  of 
during  this  tour.     In  1803  he  retran-  ashes "    he   has   a   word   of    praise, 
scribed  his  fragmentary  jottings  and  Selections  from  Letters  of  Robert  Sow- 
regrets  that  he  possessed  no  more,  they,  i.  84. 

"  though  we  were  at  the  interest- 


306  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [Oci. 

colonel.  George  and  the  colonel,  good  men  as  times  go — • 
very  good  men  —  but  alas !  we  have  neither  tastes  nor 
feelings  in  common.  This  I  wisely  learnt  from  their  con- 
versation, and  did  not  suffer  them  to  learn  it  from  mine. 
What  occasion  for  it  ?  Hunger  and  thirst  —  roast  fowls, 
mealy  potatoes,  pies,  and  clouted  cream  !  bless  the  inven- 
tors of  them  !  An  honest  philosopher  may  find  therewith 
preoccupation  for  his  mouth,  keeping  his  heart  and  brain, 
the  latter  in  his  scull,  the  former  in  the  pericardium 
some  five  or  six  inches  from  the  roots  of  his  tongue ! 
Church  and  King !  Why  I  drink  Church  and  King,  mere 
cutaneous  scabs  of  loyalty  which  only  ape  the  king's  evil, 
but  affect  not  the  interior  of  one's  health.  Mendicant 
sores !  it  requires  some  little  caution  to  keep  them  open, 
but  they  heal  of  their  own  accord.  Who  (such  a  friend 
as  I  am  to  the  system  of  fraternity)  could  refuse  such  a 
toast  at  the  table  of  a  clergyman  and  a  colonel,  his  bro- 
ther ?  So,  my  dear  Poole  !  I  live  in  peace.  Of  the  other 
party,  I  have  dined  with  a  Mr.  Northmore,  a  pupil  of 
Wakefield,  who  possesses  a  fine  house  half  a  mile  from 
Exeter.  In  his  boyhood  he  was  at  my  father's  school. 
.  .  .  But  Southey  and  self  called  upon  him  as  authors  — 
he  having  edited  a  Tryphiodorus  and  part  of  Plutarch, 
and  being:  a  notorious  anti-ministerialist  and  free-thinker. 

o 

He  welcomed  us  as  he  ought,  and  we  met  at  dinner  Hucks 
(at  whose  house  I  dine  Wednesday),  the  man  who  toured 
with  me  in  Wales  and  afterwards  published  his  "  Tour," 
Kendall,  a  poet,  who  really  looks  like  a  man  of  genius, 
pale  and  gnostic,  has  the  merit  of  being  a  Jacobin  or  so, 
but  is  a  shallowist  —  and  finally  a  Mr.  Banfill,  a  man  of 
sense,  information,  and  various  literature,  and  most  per- 
fectly a  gentleman  —  in  short  a  pleasant  man.  At  his 
house  we  dine  to-morrow.  Northmore  himself  is  an  hon- 
est, vehement  sort  of  a  fellow  who  splutters  out  all  his 
opinions  like  a  fiz-gig,  made  of  gunpowder  not  thoroughly 
dry,  sudden  and  explosive,  yet  ever  with  a  certain  adhe- 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  307 

sive  blubberliness  of  elocution.  Shallow  !  shallow !  A 
man  who  can  read  Greek  well,  but  shallow !  Yet  honest, 
too,  and  who  ardently  wishes  the  well-being  of  his  fellow- 
men,  and  believes  that  without  more  liberty  and  more 
equality  this  well-being  is  not  possible.  He  possesses  a 
most  noble  library.  The  victory  at  Novi ! 1  If  I  were  a 
good  caricaturist  I  would  sketch  off  Suwarrow  in  a  car  of 
conquest  drawn  by  huge  crabs ! !  With  what  retrograde 
majesty  the  vehicle  advances !  He  may  truly  say  he 
came  off  with  eclat,  that  is,  a  claw !  I  shall  be  back  at 
Stowey  in  less  than  three  weeks.  .  .  . 

We  hope  your  dear  mother  remains  well.  Give  my 
filial  love  to  her.  God  bless  her !  I  beg  my  kind  love  to 
Ward.  God  bless  you  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Monday  night. 

CI.     TO    ROBERT   SOUTHEY. 

STOWEY,  Tuesday  evening,  October  15,  1799. 
It  is  fashionable  among  our  philosophizers  to  assert  the 
existence  of  a  surplus  of  misery  in  the  world,  which,  in 
my  opinion,  is  no  proof  that  either  systematic  thinking 
or  unaffected  self -observation  is  fashionable  among  them. 
But  Hume  wrote,  and  the  French  imitated  him,  and  we 
the  French,  and  the  French  us  ;  and  so  philosophisms  fly 
to  and  fro,  in  series  of  imitated  imitations  —  shadows  of 
shadows  of  shadows  of  a  farthing-candle  placed  between 
two  looking-glasses.  For  in  truth,  my  dear  Southey !  I 
am  harassed  with  the  rheumatism  in  my  head  and  shoul- 
ders, not  without  arm-and-thigh-twitches  —  but  when  the 
pain  intermits  it  leaves  my  sensitive  frame  so  sensitive ! 
My  enjoyments  are  so  deep,  of  the  fire,  of  the  candle,  of 
the  thought  I  am  thinking,  of  the  old  folio  I  am  reading, 

1  Suwarrow,   at  the  head  of  the     Alessandria,  in  North  Italy,  August 
Austro-Russian  troops,  defeated  the     15,  1799. 
French  under  Joubert  at  Novi  near 


308  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [OCT. 

and  the  silence  of  the  silent  house  is  so  most  and  very 
delightful,  that  upon  my  soul !  the  rheumatism  is  no  such 
bad  thing  as  people  make  for.  And  yet  I  have,  and  do 
suffer  from  it,  in  much  pain  and  sleeplessness  and  often 
sick  at  stomach  through  indigestion  of  the  food,  which  I 
eat  from  compulsion.  Since  I  received  your  former  let- 
ter, I  have  spent  a  few  days  at  Upcott ; 1  but  was  too 
unwell  to  be  comfortable,  so  I  returned  yesterday.  Poor 
Tom  !  2  he  has  an  adventurous  calling.  I  have  so  wholly 
forgotten  my  geography  that  I  don't  know  where  Ferrol 
is,  whether  in  France  or  Spain.  Your  dear  mother  must 
be  very  anxious  indeed.  If  he  return  safe,  it  will  have 
been  good.  God  grant  he  may ! 

Massena  1 3  and  what  say  you  of  the  resurrection  and 
glorification  of  the  Saviour  of  the  East  after  his  trials  in 
the  wilderness  ?  (I  am  afraid  that  this  is  a  piece  of  blas- 
phemy ;  but  it  was  in  simple  verity  such  an  infusion  of 
animal  spirits  into  me.)  Buonaparte !  Buonaparte !  dear, 
dear,  dear  Buonaparte  !  It  would  be  no  bad  fun  to  hear 
the  clerk  of  the  Privy  Council  read  this  paragraph  before 
Pitt,  etc.  "  You  ill-looking  frog-voiced  reptile  !  mind  you 
lay  the  proper  emphasis  on  the  third  dear,  or  I  '11  split 
your  clerkship's  skull  for  you  !  "  Poole  ordered  a  paper. 
He  has  found  out,  he  says,  why  the  newspapers  had  be- 
come so  indifferent  to  him.  Inventive  Genius  !  He  begs 
his  kind  remembrances  to  you.  In  consequence  of  the 
news  he  burns  like  Greek  Fire,  under  all  the  wets  and 
waters  of  this  health-and-harvest  destroying  weather.  He 
flames  while  his  barley  smokes.  "  See  !  "  he  says,  "  how  it 

1  A  temporary  residence  of  Josiah  A  report  had  reached  England  that 
Wedgwood,  who  had  taken  it  on  lease  the  Sylph  had   been  captured  and 
in  order  to  be  near  his  newly  pur-  brought  to  Ferrol.      Southey's  Life 
chased  property  at  Combe  Florey,  and  Correspondence,  ii.  30. 

in  Somersetshire.   Meteyard's  Group  8  Marshal  Massena   defeated  the 

of  Englishmen,  1871,  p.  107.  Russians  under  Prince  Korsikov  at 

2  Southey's  brother,  a    midship-  Zurich,  September  25, 1799. 
man  on  board  the  Sylph  gun-brig. 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  309 

grows  out  again,  ruining  the  prospects  of  those  who  had 
cut  it  down  !  "  You  are  harvest-man  enough,  I  suppose,  to 
understand  the  metaphor.  Jackson l  is,  I  believe,  out  of 
all  doubt  a  bad  man.  Why  is  it,  if  it  be,  and  I  fear  it  is, 
why  is  it  that  the  studies  of  music  and  painting  are  so  un- 
favourable to  the  human  heart  ?  Painters  have  been  com- 
monly very  clever  men,  which  is  not  so  generally  the  case 
with  musicians,  but  both  alike  are  almost  uniformly  de- 
bauchees. It  is  superfluous  to  say  how  much  your  account 
of  Bampfylde 2  interested  me.  Predisposition  to  mad- 
ness gave  him  a  cast  of  originality,  and  he  had  a  species 
of  taste  which  only  genius  could  give ;  but  his  genius 
,  does  not  appear  a  powerful  or  ebullient  faculty  (nearer  to 
Lamb's  than  to  the  Gebir-man  [Landor],  so  I  judge  from 
the  few  specimens  /have  seen).  If  you  think  otherwise, 
you  are  right  I  doubt  not.  I  shall  be  glad  to  give  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Keenan3  the  right  hand  of  welcome  with  looks 
and  tones  in  Jit  accompaniment.  For  the  wife  of  a  man 

1  William    Jackson,    organist    of  various  talents  made  all  who  knew 
Exeter     Cathedral,     1730-1803,     a  him  remember  him  with  regret,  de- 
musical   composer  and   artist.      He  signed  to  republish  the  little  collec- 
published,  among  other  works,  The  tion  of    Bampfylde's  Sonnets,  with 
Four  Ages  with  Essays,  1798.     See  what  few  of  his  pieces  were  still  un- 
letter  of  Southey  to  S.  T.  Coleridge,  edited. 

October  3,  1799,  Southey' s  Life  and  "  Those  poems  which  are  here  first 

Correspondence,  ii.  26.  printed  were   transcribed  from  the 

2  John       Codrington      Warwick  originals  in  his  possession." 
Bampfylde,  second  son  of  Richard  "  Bampfylde  published  his  Sonnets 
Bampfylde,  of   Poltimore,  was  the  at  a  very  early  age ;  they  are  some 
author    of     Sixteen    Sonnets,    pub-  of  the  most  original  in  our  language, 
lished   in    1779.     In    the   letter   of  He  died  in  a  private  mad-house,  after 
October  3  (see  above)  Southey  gives  twenty  years'  confinement."     Speci- 
an  interesting  account  of  his  eccen-  mens  of  the  Later  English  Poets,  1808, 
trie  habits  and  melancholy  history,  iii.  434. 

In  a  prefatory  note  to  four  of  Bamp-  3  "  A  sister  of  General  McKinnon, 

fylde's  sonnets,  included  by  Southey  who  was  killed  at  Ciudad  Rodrigo." 

in  his  Specimens  of  the  Later  Eng-  In  the  same  letter  to  Coleridge  (see 

lish  Poets,  he  explains  how  he  came  above)  Southey  says  that  he  looked 

to  possess  the  copies  of  some  hitherto  up  to  her  with  more  respect  because 

unpublished  poems.  the   light   of   Buonaparte's   counte- 

"  Jackson  of  Exeter,  a  man  whose  nance  had  shone  upon  her. 


310  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [Ocx. 

of  genius  who  sympathises  effectively  with  her  husband  in 
his  habits  and  feelings  is  a  rara  avis  with  me ;  though  a 
vast  majority  of  her  own  sex  and  too  many  of  ours  will 
gcout  her  for  a  rara  piscis.  If  I  am  well  enough,  Sara 
and  I  go  to  Bristol  in  a  few  days.  I  hope  they  will  not 
come  in  the  mean  time.  It  is  singularly  unpleasant  to  me 
that  I  cannot  renew  our  late  acquaintances  in  Exeter 
without  creating  very  serious  uneasinesses  at  Ottery, 
Northmore  is  so  preeminently  an  offensive  character  to 
the  aristocrats.  He  sent  Paine's  books  as  a  present  to  a 
clergyman  of  my  brother's  acquaintance,  a  Mr.  Markes. 
This  was  silly  enough.  .  .  . 

I  will  set  about  "  Christabel  "  with  all  speed  ;  but  I  do 
not  think  it  a  fit  opening  poem.  What  I  think  would  be 
a  fit  opener,  and  what  I  would  humbly  lay  before  you  as 
the  best  plan  of  the  next  Anthologia,  I  will  communicate 
shortly  in  another  letter  entirely  on  this  subject.  Mo- 
hammed I  will  not  forsake  ;  but  my  money-book  I  must 
write  first.  In  the  last,  or  at  least  in  a  late  "Monthly 
Magazine  "  was  an  Essay  on  a  Jesuitic  conspiracy  and 
about  the  Russians.  There  was  so  much  genius  in  it 
that  I  suspected  William  Taylor  for  the  author ;  but  the 
style  was  so  nauseously  affected,  so  absurdly  pedantic, 
that  I  was  half-angry  with  myself  for  the  suspicion. 
Have  you  seen  Bishop  Prettyman's  book  ?  I  hear  it  is  a 
curiosity.  You  remember  Scott  the  attorney,  who  held 
such  a  disquisition  on  my  simile  of  property  resembling 
matter  rather  than  blood  ?  and  eke  of  St.  John  ?  and  you 
remember,  too,  that  I  shewed  him  in  my  face  that  there 
was  no  room  for  him  in  my  heart  ?  Well,  sir  !  this  man 
has  taken  a  most  deadly  hatred  to  me,  and  how  do  you 
think  he  revenges  himself  ?  He  imagines  that  I  write  for 
the  "Morning  Post,"  and  he  goes  regularly  to  the  coffee- 
houses, calls  for  the  paper,  and  reading  it  he  observes 
aloud,  "  What  damn'd  stuff  of  poetry  is  always  crammed 
in  this  paper !  such  damn'd  silly  nonsense !  I  wonder 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  311 

what  coxcomb  it  is  that  writes  it !  I  wish  the  paper  was 
kicked  out  of  the  coffee-house."  Now,  but  for  Cruik- 
shank,  I  could  play  Scott  a  precious  trick  by  sending  to 
Stuart,  "  The  Angry  Attorney,  a  True  Tale,"  and  I  know 
more  than  enough  of  Scott's  most  singular  parti-coloured 
rascalities  to  make  a  most  humorous  and  biting  satire  of  it. 
I  have  heard  of  a  young  Quaker  who  went  to  the  Lobby, 
with  a  monstrous  military  cock-hat  on  his  head,  with  a 
scarlet  coat  and  up  to  his  mouth  in  flower 'd  muslin,  swear- 
ing too  most  bloodily  —  all  "  that  he  might  not  be  unlike 
other  people  !  "  A  Quaker's  son  getting  himself  christen'd 
to  avoid  being  remarkable  is  as  improbable  a  lie  as  ever 
self-delusion  permitted  the  heart  to  impose  on  the  under- 
standing, or  the  understanding  to  invent  without  the  con- 
sent of  the  heart.  But  so  it  is.  Soon  after  Lloyd's  arri- 
val at  Cambridge  I  understand  Christopher  Wordsworth 
wrote  his  uncle,  Mr.  Cookson,1  that  Lloyd  was  going  to 
read  Greek  with  him.  Cookson  wrote  back  recommending 
caution,  and  whether  or  no  an  intimacy  with  so  marked  a 
character  might  not  be  prejudicial  to  his  academical  inter- 
ests. (This  is  his  usual  mild  manner.)  Christopher 
Wordsworth  returned  for  answer  that  Lloyd  was  by  no 
means  a  democrat,  and  as  a  proof  of  it,  transcribed  the 
most  favourable  passages  from  the  "  Edmund  Oliver,"  and 
here  the  affair  ended.  You  remember  Lloyd's  own 
account  of  this  story,  of  course,  more  accurately  than  I, 
and  can  therefore  best  judge  how  far  my  suspicions  of 
falsehood  and  exaggeration  were  well-founded.  My  dear 
Southey !  the  having  a  bad  heart  and  not  having  a  good 
one  are  different  things.  That  Charles  Lloyd  has  a  bad 
heart,  I  do  not  even  think ;  but  I  venture  to  say,  and  that 
openly,  that  he  has  not  a  good  one.  He  is  unfit  to  be  any 
man's  friend,  and  to  all  but  a  very  guarded  man  he  is  a 

1  Dr.  Cookson,  Canon  of  Windsor  of  her  time  under  his  roof  before 
and  Rector  of  Forncett,  Norfolk,  she  finally  threw  in  her  lot  with  her 
Dorothy  Wordsworth  passed  much  brother  William  in  1795. 


312  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [Nov. 

perilous  acquaintance.  Your  conduct  towards  him,  while 
it  is  wise,  will,  I  doubt  not,  be  gentle.  Of  confidence  he 
is  not  worthy ;  but  social  kindness  and  communicativeness 
purely  intellectual  can  do  you  no  harm,  and  may  be  the 
means  of  benefiting  his  character  essentially.  Aut  ama 
me  quia  sum  Dei,  aut  ut  sim  Dei,  said  St.  Augustin,  and 
in  the  laxer  sense  of  the  word  "  Ama  "  there  is  wisdom  in 
the  expression  notwithstanding  its  wit.  Besides,  it  is  the 
way  of  peace.  From  Bristol  perhaps  I  go  to  London,  but 
I  will  write  you  where  I  am.  Yours  affectionately, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

I  have  great  affection  for  Lamb,  but  I  have  likewise 
a  perfect  Lloyd-and-Lambophobia !  Independent  of  the 
irritation  attending  an  epistolary  controversy  with  them, 
their  prose  comes  so  damn'd  dear !  Lloyd  especially 
writes  with  a  woman's  fluency  in  a  large  rambling  hand, 
most  dull  though  profuse  of  feeling.  I  received  from 
them  in  last  quarter  letters  so  many,  that  with  the  post- 
age I  might  have  bought  Birch's  Milton.  —  Sara  will  write 
soon.  Our  love  to  Edith  and  your  mother. 

CII.    TO   THE   SAME. 

KESWiCK,1  Sunday,  November  10,  1799. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  am  anxious  lest  so  long 
silence  should  seem  unaffectionate,  or  I  would  not,  hav- 

1  The  journal,  or  notes  for  a  jour-  road  and  Saddleback ;  on  the  left  a 

nal,  of  this  first  tour  in  the  Lake  fine  but  unwatered  vale,  walled  by 

Country,  leaves  a  doubt  whether  grassy  hills  and  a  fine  black  crag 

Coleridge  and  Wordsworth  slept  at  standing  single  at  the  terminus  as 

Keswick  on  Sunday,  November  10,  sentry.  Before  me,  that  is,  towards 

1799,  or  whether  they  returned  to  Keswick,  the  mountains  stand,  one 

Cockermouth.  It  is  certain  that  behind  the  other,  in  orderly  array, 

they  passed  through  Keswick  again  as  if  evoked  by  and  attentive  to  the 

on  Friday,  November  15,  as  the  fol-  white-vested  wizards."  It  was  from 

lowing  entry  testifies :  —  almost  the  same  point  of  view  that, 

"  1  mile  and  £  from  Keswick,  a  thirty  years  afterwards,  his  wife,  on 

Druidical  circle.  On  the  right  the  her  journey  south  after  her  daugh- 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  313 

ing  so  little  to  say,  write  to  you  from  such  a  distant 
corner  of  the  kingdom.  I  was  called  up  to  the  North  by 
alarming  accounts  of  Wordsworth's  health,  which,  thank 
God !  are  but  little  more  than  alarms.  Since  I  have 
visited  the  Lakes  and  in  a  pecuniary  way  have  made  the 
trip  answer  to  me.  From  hence  I  go  to  London,  having 
had  (by  accident  here)  a  sort  of  offer  made  to  me  of  a 
pleasant  kind,  which,  if  it  turn  out  well,  will  enable  me 
and  Sara  to  reside  in  London  for  the  next  four  or  five 
months  —  a  thing  I  wish  extremely  on  many  and  impor- 
tant accounts.  So  much  for  myself.  In  my  last  letter  I 
said  I  would  give  you  my  reasons  for  thinking  "  Chris- 
tabel,"  were  it  finished,  and  finished  as  spiritedly  as  it  com- 
mences, yet  still  an  improper  opening  poem.  My  reason 
is  it  cannot  be  expected  to  please  all.  Those  who  dislike 
it  will  deem  it  extravagant  ravings,  and  go  on  through  the 
rest  of  the  collection  with  the  feeling  of  disgust,  and  it  is 
not  impossible  that  were  it  liked  by  any  it  would  still  not 
harmonise  with  the  real -life  poems  that  follow.  It 
ought,  I  think,  to  be  the  last.  The  first  ought  me  judice 
to  be  a  poem  in  couplets,  didactic  or  satirical,  such  a  one 
as  the  lovers  of  genuine  poetry  would  call  sensible  and 
entertaining,  such  as  the  ignoramuses  and  Pope-admirers 
would  deem  genuine  poetry.  I  had  planned  such  a  one, 
and,  but  for  the  absolute  necessity  of  scribbling  prose,  I 
should  have  written  it.  The  great  and  master  fault  of 
the  last  "  Anthology  "  was  the  want  of  arrangement.  It 
is  called  a  collection,  and  meant  to  be  continued  annually ; 
yet  was  distinguished  in  nothing  from  any  other  single 
volume  of  poems  equally  good.  Yours  ought  to  have  been 
a  cabinet  with  proper  compartments,  and  papers  in  them, 
whereas  it  was  only  the  papers.  Some  such  arrangement 
as  this  should  have  been  adopted :  First.  Satirical  and 
Didactic.  2.  Lyrical.  3.  Narrative.  4.  Levities. 

ter's  marriage,  took  a  solemn  fare-  strange,  but  then  so  dear  and  so 
well  of  the  Vale  of  Keswiek  once  so  familiar. 


314  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [DEC. 

"  Sic  positi  quoniam  suaves  miscetis  odores, 
Neve  inter  vites  corylum  sere  "  — 

is,  I  am  convinced,  excellent  advice  of  Master  Virgil's. 
N.  B.  A  good  motto !  'T  is  from  Virgil's  seventh  Ec- 
logue. 

"  Populus  Alcidae  gratissima,  vitis  laccho, 
Formosse  myrtus  Veneri,  sua  laurea  Phoebo ; 
Phyllis  amat  corylos.'' 

But  still,  my  dear  Southey!  it  goes  grievously  against 
the  grain  with  me,  that  you  should  be  editing  antholo- 
gies. I  would  to  Heaven  that  you  could  afford  to  write 
nothing,  or  at  least  to  publish  nothing,  till  the  completion 
and  publication  of  the  "  Madoc."  I  feel  as  certain,  as  my 
mind  dare  feel  on  any  subject,  that  it  would  lift  you  with 
a  spring  into  a  reputation  that  would  give  immediate  sale 
to  your  after  compositions  and  a  license  of  writing  more 
at  ease.  Whereas  "  Thalaba  "  would  gain  you  (for  a  time 
at  least)  more  ridiculers  than  admirers,  and  the  "  Madoc  " 
might  in  consequence  be  welcomed  with  an  ecce  iterum. 
Do,  do,  my  dear  Southey!  publish  the  "Madoc"  quam 
citissime,  not  hastily,  but  yet  speedily.  I  will  instantly 
publish  an  Essay  on  Epic  Poetry  in  reference  to  it.  I 
have  been  reading  the  JEneid,  and  there  you  will  be  all 
victorious,  excepting  the  importance  of  ^Eneas  and  his 
connection  with  events  existing  in  Virgil's  time.  This 
cannot  be  said  of  "  Madoc."  There  are  other  faults  in 
the  construction  of  your  poem,  but  nothing  compared  to 
those  in  the  2Eneid.  Homer  I  shall  read  too. 

(No  signature.) 

CHI.    TO   THE   SAME. 

December  9,  [1799]. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  pray  you  in  your  next  give 
me  the  particulars  of  your  health.  I  hear  accounts  so 
contradictory  that  I  know  only  enough  to  be  a  good  deal 
frightened.  You  will  surely  think  it  your  duty  to  sus- 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  315 

pend  all  intellectual  exertion  ;  as  to  money,  you  will  get 
it  easily  enough.  You  may  easily  make  twice  the  money 
you  receive  from  Stuart  by  the  use  of  the  scissors ;  for 
your  name  is  prodigiously  high  among  the  London  pub- 
lishers. I  would  to  God  your  health  permitted  you  to 
come  to  London.  You  might  have  lodgings  in  the  same 
house  with  us.  And  this  I  am  certain  of,  that  not  even 
Kingsdown  is  a  more  healthy  or  airy  place.  I  have 
enough  for  us  to  do  that  would  be  mere  child's  work  to 
us,  and  in  which  the  women  might  assist  us  essentially, 
by  the  doing  of  which  we  might  easily  get  a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  each  before  the  first  of  April.  This  I  speak, 
not  from  guess  but  from  absolute  conditions  with  book- 
sellers. The  principal  work  to  which  I  allude  would  be 
likewise  a  great  source  of  amusement  and  profit  to  us  in 
the  execution,  and  assuredly  we  should  be  a  mutual  com- 
fort to  each  other.  This  I  should  press  on  you  were  not 
Davy  at  Bristol,  but  he  is  indeed  an  admirable  young 
man ;  not  only  must  he  be  of  comfort  to  you,  but  in 
whom  can  you  place  such  reliance  as  a  medical  man  ? 
But  for  Davy,  I  should  advise  your  coming  to  London ; 
the  difference  of  expense  for  three  months  could  not  be 
above  fifty  pounds.  I  do  not  see  how  it  could  be  half  as 
much.  But  I  pray  you  write  me  all  particulars,  how 
you  have  been,  how  you  are,  and  what  you  think  the  par- 
ticular nature  of  your  disease. 

Now  for  poor  George.1  Assuredly  I  am  ready  and 
willing  to  become  his  bondsman  for  five  hundred  pounds 
if,  on  the  whole,  you  think  the  scheme  a  good  one.  I  see 
enough  of  the  boy  to  be  fully  convinced  of  his  goodness 
and  well-intentionedness ;  of  his  present  or  probable 
talents  I  know  little.  To  remain  all  his  life  an  under 
clerk,  as  many  have  done,  and  earn  fifty  pounds  a  year  in 
his  old  age  with  a  trembling  hand — alas!  that  were  a 
dreary  prospect.  No  creature  under  the  sun  is  so  helpless, 

1  George  Fricker,  Mrs.  Coleridge's  younger  brother. 


316  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [DEC. 

so  unfitted,  I  should  think,  for  any  other  mode  of  life  as  a 
clerk,  a  mere  clerk.  Yet  still  many  have  begun  so  and 
risen  into  wealth  and  importance,  and  it  is  not  impossible 
that  before  his  term  closed  we  might  be  able,  if  nought 
better  offered,  perhaps  to  procure  him  a  place  in  a  public 
office.  We  might  between  us  keep  him  neat  in  clothes 
from  our  own  wardrobes,  I  should  think,  and  I  am  ready 
to  allow  five  guineas  this  year,  in  addition  to  Mr.  Savary's 
twelve  pounds.  More  I  am  not  justified  to  promise.  Yet 
still  I  think  it  matter  of  much  reflection  with  you.  The 
commercial  prospects  of  this  country  are,  in  my  opinion, 
gloomy ;  our  present  commerce  is  enormous :  that  it  must 
diminish  after  a  peace  is  certain,  and  should  any  accident 
injure  the  West  India  trade,  and  give  to  France  a  para- 
mountship  in  the  American  affections,  that  diminution 
would  be  vast  indeed,  and,  of  course,  great  would  be  the 
number  of  clerks,  etc.,  wholly  out  of  employment.  This  is 
no  visionary  speculation ;  for  we  are  consulting  concerning 
a  life,  for  probably  fifty  years.  I  should  have  given  a  more 
intense  conviction  to  the  goodness  of  the  former  scheme 
of  apprenticing  him  to  a  printer,  and  would  make  every 
exertion  to  raise  my  share  of  the  money  wanting.  How- 
ever, all  this  is  talk  at  random.  I  leave  it  to  you  to 
decide.  What  does  Charles  Danvers  think?  He  has 
been  very  kind  to  George.  But  to  whom  is  he  not  kind, 
that  body  —  blood  —  bone  —  muscle  —  nerve  — heart  and 
head  —  good  man !  I  lay  final  stress  on  his  opinion  in 
almost  everything  except  verses ;  those  I  know  more 
about  than  he  does  —  "  God  bless  him,  to  use  a  vulgar 
phrase."  This  is  a  quotation  from  Godwin,  who  used 
these  words  in  conversation  with  me  and  Davy.  The 
pedantry  of  atheism  tickled  me  hugely.  Godwin  is  no 
great  things  in  intellect ;  but  in  heart  and  manner  he  is 
all  the  better  for  having  been  the  husband  of  Mary  Woll- 
stonecraft.  Why  did  not  George  Dyer  (who,  by  the  bye, 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  317 

has  written  a  silly  milk-and-water  life  of  you,1  in  which 
your  talents  for  pastoral  and  rural  imagery  are  extolled, 
and  in  which  you  are  asserted  to  be  a  republican),  why 
did  not  George  Dyer  send  to  the  "  Anthology  "  that  poem 
in  the  last  "  Monthly  Magazine  ? "  It  is  so  very  far 
superior  to  anything  I  have  ever  seen  of  his,  and  might 
have  made  some  atonement  for  his  former  transgressions. 
God  love  him,  he  is  a  very  good  man ;  but  he  ought  not 
to  degrade  himself  by  writing  lives  of  living  characters 
for  Phillips  ;  and  all  his  friends  make  wry  faces,  peeping 
out  of  the  pillory  of  his  advertisemental  notes.  I  hold  to 
my  former  opinion  concerning  the  arrangement  of  the 
"  Anthology,"  and  the  booksellers  with  whom  /  have 
talked  coincide  with  me.  On  this  I  am  decided,  that  all 
the  light  pieces  should  be  put  together  under  one  title  with 
a  motto  2  thus  :  "  JVbs  hcec  novimus  esse  nihil  —  Phillls 
amat  Corylos"  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  scarce  poetic 
enthusiasm  enough  to  finish  "  Christabel ; "  but  the  poem, 
with  which  Davy  is  so  much  delighted,  I  probably  may 
finish  time  enough.  I  shall  probably  not  publish  my 
letters,  and  if  I  do  so,  I  shall  most  certainly  not  publish 
any  verses  in  them.  Of  course,  I  expect  to  see  them  in 
the  "  Anthology."  As  to  title,  I  should  wish  a  fictitious 

1  A  gossiping  account  of  the  early  mestic    life,   and,    fortunately,   was 

history  and  writings  of  "  Mr.  Robert  very  happy  in  his  matrimonial  con- 

Southey"  appeared  in  Public  Char-  nection."     It  was  Sir  Richard  Phil- 

acters  for  1799-1800,  a  humble  fore-  lips,   the   "knight"   of   Coleridge's 

runner  of   Men   of  the    Time,   pub-  anecdote,  who  told  Mrs.  Barbauld 

lished    by    Richard     Phillips,    the  that  he   would    have   given   "  nine 

founder  of   the   Monthly  Magazine,  guineas  a  sheet  for  the   last   hour 

and  afterwards  knighted  as  a  sheriff  and   a   half    of    his    conversation." 

of  the   city   of   London.      Possibly  Letters,   Conversations,  etc.,  1836,  ii. 

Coleridge    was    displeased    at    the  131,  132. 

mention  of  his  name  in  connection  2  "  These  various  pieces  were  rear- 

with  Pantisocracy,  and  still  more  by  ranged  in  three  volumes  under  the 

the  following  sentence :  "  The  three  title  of  Minor  Poems,  in  1815,  with 

young  poetical  friends,  Lovel,  Sou-  this  motto,   Nos   hcec   novimus  esse 

they,  and  Coleridge,  married  three  nihil."     Poetical    Works    of  Robert 

sisters.     Southey  is  attached  to  do-  Soutf-ey,  1837,  ii.,  xii. 


318  FKOM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [DEC. 

one  or  none  ;  were  I  sure  that  I  could  finish  the  poem  I 
spoke  of.  I  do  not  know  how  to  get  the  conclusion  of 
Mrs.  Robinson's  poem  for  you.  Perhaps  it  were  better 
omitted,  and  I  mean  to  put  the  thoughts  of  that  concert 
poem  into  smoother  metre.  Our  "  Devil's  Thoughts  " 
have  been  admired  far  and  wide,  most  enthusiastically 
admired.  I  wish  to  have  my  name  in  the  collection  at  all 
events ;  but  I  should  better  like  it  to  better  poems  than 
these  I  have  been  hitherto  able  to  give  you.  But  I  will 
write  again  on  Saturday.  Supposing  that  Johnson  should 
mean  to  do  nothing  more  with  the  "  Fears  in  Solitude  " 
and  the  two  accompanying  poems,  would  they  be  excluded 
from  the  plan  of  your  "  Anthology  ?  "  There  were  not 
above  two  hundred  sold,  and  what  is  that  to  a  newspaper 
circulation  ?  Collins's  Odes  were  thus  reprinted  in  Dods- 
ley's  Collection.  As  to  my  future  residence,  I  can  say 
nothing  —  only  this,  that  to  be  near  you  would  be  a 
strong  motive  with  me  for  my  wife's  sake  as  well  as  my- 
self. I  think  it  not  impossible  that  a  number  might  be 
found  to  go  with  you  and  settle  in  a  warmer  climate. 
My  kind  love  to  your  wife.  Sara  and  Hartley  arrived 
safe,  and  here  they  are,  No.  21  Buckingham  Street, 
Strand.  God  bless  you,  and  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Thursday  evening. 

P.  S.  Mary  Hayes l  is  writing  the  "  Lives  of  Famous 
Women,"  and  is  now  about  your  friend  Joan.  She  begs 
you  to  tell  her  what  books  to  consult,  or  to  communicate 
something  to  her.  This  from  Tobin,  who  sends  his  love. 

1  Mary  Hayes,  a  friend  of  Mary  moirs  of  Emma   Courtney,,  and  Fe- 

Wollstonecraft,  whose  opinions  she  male  Biography,  or  Memoirs  of  Illus- 

advocated     with    great    zeal,    and  trious  and  Celebrated  Women.     Six 

whose  death  she  witnessed.    Among  volumes.        London  :     R.    Phillips, 

other  works,  she  wrote  a  novel,  Me-  1803. 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  319 

CIV.    TO   THE   SAME. 

Tuesday  night,  12  o'clock  [December  24],  1799. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  My  Spinosism  (if  Spinosism  it 
be,  and  i'  faith  't  is  very  like  it)  disposed  me  to  consider 
this  big  city  as  that  part  of  the  supreme  One  which  the 
prophet  Moses  was  allowed  to  see  —  I  should  be  more  dis- 
posed to  pull  off  my  shoes,  beholding  Him  in  a  Bush,  than 
while  I  am  forcing  my  reason  to  believe  that  even  in  the- 
atres He  is,  yea !  even  in  the  Opera  House.  Your  "  Thai- 
aba  "  will  beyond  all  doubt  bring  you  two  hundred  pounds, 
if  you  will  sell  it  at  once ;  but  do  not  print  at  a  venture, 
under  the  notion  of  selling  the  edition.  I  assure  you  that 
Longman  regretted  the  bargain  he  made  with  Cottle  con- 
cerning the  second  edition  of  the  "  Joan  of  Arc,"  and  is 
indisposed  to  similar  negotiations  ;  but  most  and  very  eager 
to  have  the  property  of  your  works  at  almost  any  price. 
If  you  have  not  heard  it  from  Cottle,  why,  you  may  hear 
it  from  me,  that  is,  the  arrangement  of  Cottle's  affairs  in 
London.  The  whole  and  total  copyright  of  your  "  Joan," 
and  the  first  volume  of  your  poems  (exclusive  of  what 
Longman  had  before  given),  was  taken  by  him  at  three 
hundred  and  seventy  pounds.  You  are  a  strong  swimmer, 
and  have  borne  up  poor  Joey  with  all  his  leaden  weights 
about  him,  his  own  and  other  people's !  Nothing  has  an- 
swered to  him  but  your  works.  By  me  he  has  lost  some- 
what —  by  Fox,  Amos,  and  himself  very  much.  I  can  sell 
your  "  Thalaba  "  quite  as  well  in  your  absence  as  in  your 
presence.  I  am  employed  from  I-rise  to  I-set1  (that  is, 
from  nine  in  the  morning  to  twelve  at  night),  a  pure  scrib- 
bler. My  mornings  to  booksellers'  compilations,  after  din- 
ner to  Stuart,  who  pays  all  my  expenses  here,  let  them  be 
what  they  will ;  the  earnings  of  the  morning  go  to  make 
up  an  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for  my  year's  expendi- 
ture ;  for,  supposing  all  clear  my  year's  (1800)  allowance 

-1  He  used  the  same  words  in  a     1799.    Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends, 
letter  to  Poole  dated  December  31,     i.  1. 


320  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [DEC. 

is  anticipated.  But  this  I  can  do  by  the  first  of  April  (at 
which  time  I  leave  London).  For  Stuart  I  write  often 
his  leading  paragraphs  on  Secession,  Peace,  Essay  on  the 
new  French  Constitution,1  Advice  to  Friends  of  Freedom, 
Critiques  on  Sir  W.  Anderson's  Nose,  Odes  to  Georgiana 
D.  of  D.  (horribly  misprinted),  Christmas  Carols,  etc.,  etc., 
—  anything  not  bad  in  the  paper,  that  is  not  yours,  is 
mine.  So  if  any  verses  there  strike  you  as  worthy  the 
"  Anthology,"  "  do  me  the  honour,  sir  !  "  However,  in  the 
course  of  a  week  I  do  mean  to  conduct  a  series  of  essays 
in  that  paper  which  may  be  of  public  utility.  So  much 
for  myself,  except  that  I  long  to  be  out  of  London  ;  and 
that  my  Xstmas  Carol  is  a  quaint  performance,  and,  in  as 
strict  a  sense  as  is  possible,  an  Impromptu,  and,  had  I  done 
all  I  had  planned,  that  "  Ode  to  the  Duchess  "  2  would  have 
been  a  better  thing  than  it  is  —  it  being  somewhat  dull- 
ish, etc.  I  have  bought  the  "  Beauties  of  the  Anti-jaco- 
bin," and  attorneys  and  counsellors  advise  me  to  prosecute, 
and  offer  to  undertake  it,  so  as  that  I  shall  have  neither 
trouble  or  expense.  They  say  it  is  a  clear  case,  etc.3  I 

1  "  Essay  on  the  New  French  Con-        That  anxious  heart  to  each  fond  feeling 

stitution,"  Essays  on  His  Own  Times,  true> 

.    i  QO_I  QQ  To  you  still  pants  each  pleasure  to  impart, 

And  soon  —  oh  transport  —  reach  its  home 
•*  The  Ode  appeared  in  the  Morn-  an(j  VOUi 

ing  Post,  December  24,  1799.    The  From  a  transcript  {n  my  possession 

stanzas  in  which  the  Duchess  com-  of  wMch  ^  Qpening  Ums  Qre  ^  ^ 

memorated  her  passage  over  Mount  handwriting  of  Mrs.  H.  N.  Cole. 
St.  Gothard  appeared  in  the  Morn- 


ing  Post  .December  21.     They  were        ,  The  Ubd  of  wh}ch    Coleridge 

inscribed  to  her  children,  and  it  was     •     ,1  i  •     j  A  •     j  • 

justly  complained  was  contained  in 

the  last  stanza,  in  which  she  antici-     ,1  j      «  0-        o.i_-    *.•        /.LV.  j. 

these  words  :      bince  this  time  (that 

pates  her  return,  which  suggested  to-      •         i       •       n      i«  j     \  i.     i_ 

is,  since  leaving  Cambridge)  he  has 

Coleridge    the    far-fetched    conceit    left  ^  natiye  country>  commenced 

that  maternal  affection  enabled  the  citizen  of  ^  worldj  lflft  Mg  poor 

Duchess  to  overcome  her  aristocratic  children  fatherless  and  his  wife  deg. 

prejudices,  and      hail  Tell  s  chapel  ^^      Exh{s    ^    ^    friendg 

and   the   platform  wild."     It  runs  Lamb   &nd  Southey>,,     B{ographia 

Literaria,  1817,  vol.  i.  chapter  i.  p. 
Hope  of  my  life  !  dear  children  of  my  heart  !     70,  n. 


1799]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  321 

will  speak  to  Johnson  about  the  "  Fears  in  Solitude."  If 
he  gives  them  up  they  are  yours.  That  dull  ode  has  been 
printed  often  enough,  and  may  now  be  allowed  to  "  sink 
with  dead  swoop,  and  to  the  bottom  go"  to  quote  an  ad- 
mired author;  but  the  two  others  will  do  with  a  little 
trimming. 

My  dear  Southey !  I  have  said  nothing  concerning  that 
which  most  oppresses  me.  Immediately  on  my  leaving 
London  I  fall  to  the  "  Life  of  Lessing; "  till  that  is  done, 
till  I  have  given  the  Wedgwoods  some  proof  that  I  am 
endeavouring  to  do  well  for  my  fellow-creatures,  I  cannot 
stir.  That  being  done,  I  would  accompany  you,  and  see 
no  impossibility  of  forming  a  pleasant  little  colony  for  a 
few  years  in  Italy  or  the  South  of  France.  Peace  will 
soon  come.  God  love  you,  my  dear  Southey !  I  would 
write  to  Stuart,  and  give  up  his  paper  immediately.  You 
should  do  nothing  that  did  not  absolutely  please  you.  Be 
idle,  be  very  idle  !  The  habits  of  your  mind  are  such  that 
you  will  necessarily  do  much ;  but  be  as  idle  as  you  can. 

Our  love  to  dear  Edith.  If  you  see  Mary,  tell  her  that 
we  have  received  our  trunk.  Hartley  is  quite  well,  and 
my  talkativeness  is  his,  without  diminution  on  my  side. 
'T  is  strange,  but  certainly  many  things  go  in  the  blood, 
beside  gout  and  scrophula.  Yesterday  I  dined  at  Long- 
man's and  met  Pratt,  and  that  honest  piece  of  prolix  dull- 
ity  and  nullity,  young  Towers,  who  desired  to  be  remem- 
bered to  you.  To-morrow  Sara  and  I  dine  at  Mister 
Gobwin's,  as  Hartley  calls  him,  who  gave  the  philosopher 
such  a  rap  on  the  shins  with  a  ninepin  that  Gobwin  in 
huge  pain  lectured  Sara  on  his  boisterousness.  I  was  not 
at  home.  Est  modus  in  rebus.  Moshes  is  somewhat  too^ 
rough  and  noisy,  but  the  cadaverous  silence  of  Godwin's 
children  is  to  me  quite  catacombish,  and,  thinking  of  Mary 
Wollstonecraft,  I  was  oppressed  by  it  the  day  Davy  and  I 
dined  there. 

God  love  you  and  S.  T.  COLEKIDGE. 


322  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [JAN. 

CV.    TO   THE   SAME. 

Saturday,  January  25,  1800. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  No  day  passes  in  which  I  do  not 
as  it  were  yearn  after  you,  but  in  truth  my  occupations 
have  lately  swoln  above  smothering  point.  I  am  over 
mouth  and  nostrils.  I  have  inclosed  a  poem  which  Mrs. 
Robinson  gave  me  for  your  "  Anthology."  She  is  a  wo- 
man of  undoubted  genius.  There  was  a  poem  of  hers  in 
this  morning's  paper  which  both  in  metre  and  matter 
pleased  me  much.  She  overloads  everything ;  but  I  never 
knew  a  human  being  with  so  full  a  mind  —  bad,  good, 
and  indifferent,  I  grant  you,  but  full  and  overflowing. 
This  poem  I  asked  for  you,  because  I  thought  the  metre 
stimulating  and  some  of  the  stanzas  really  good.  The 
first  line  of  the  twelfth  would  of  itself  redeem  a  worse 
poem.1  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me,  but  should  you 
not,  yet  still  put  it  in,  my  dear  fellow !  for  my  sake,  and 
out  of  respect  to  a  woman-poet's  feelings.  Miss  Hayes  I 
have  seen.  Charles  Lloyd's  conduct  has  been  atrocious 
beyond  what  you  stated.  Lamb  himself  confessed  to  me 
that  during  the  time  in  which  he  kept  up  his  ranting,  sen- 
timental correspondence  with  Miss  Hayes,  he  frequently 
read  her  letters  in  company,  as  a  subject  for  laughter,  and 
then  sate  down  and  answered  them  quite  a  la  Rousseau  ! 
Poor  Lloyd !  Every  hour  new-creates  him ;  he  is  his  own 
posterity  in  a  perpetually  flowing  series,  and  his  body  un- 
fortunately retaining  an  external  identity,  their  mutual 
contradictions  and  disagreeings  are  united  under  one  name, 
and  of  course  are  called  lies,  treachery,  and  rascality !  I 
would  not  give  him  up,  but  that  the  same  circumstances 
which  have  wrenched  his  morals  prevent  in  him  any  salu- 

1  Mrs.  Robinson  ("  Perdita  ")  con-  caught  Coleridge's  fancy,  the  first  of 

tributed  two  poems  to  the  Annual  An-  the  twelfth  stanza,  runs  thus :  — 
thology  of  1800,  "  Jasper  "  and  "  The        "  Pale  Moon  !  thou  Spectre  of  the  Sky." 

Haunted  Beach."     The  line  which  Annual  Anthology,  1800,  p.  168. 


1800]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  323 

tary  exercise  of  genius.  And  therefore  he  is  not  worth  to 
the  world  that  I  should  embroil  and  embrangle  myself  in 
his  interests. 

Of  Miss  Hayes'  intellect  I  do  not  think  so  highly  as  you, 
or  rather,  to  speak  sincerely,  I  think  not  contemptuously 
but  certainly  despectively  thereof.    Yet  I  think  you  likely 
in  this  case  to  have  judged  better  than  I ;  for  to  hear  a 
thing,  ugly  and  petticoated,  ex-syllogize  a  God  with  cold- 
blooded precision,  and  attempt  to  run  religion  through  the   ^ 
body  with  an  icicle,  an  icicle  from  a  Scotch  Hog-trough  !   » 
/  do  not  endure  it ;  my  eye  beholds  phantoms,  and  "  no- 
thing is,  but  what  is  not." 

By  your  last  I  could  not  find  whether  or  no  you  still 
are  willing  to  execute  the  "  History  of  the  Levelling  Prin- 
ciple." Let  me  hear.  Tom  Wedgwood  is  going  to  the 
Isle  of  St.  Nevis.  As  to  myself,  Lessing  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  I  must  stay  in  England.  .  .  .  Dear  Hartley  is  well, 
and  in  high  force ;  he  sported  of  his  own  accord  a  theolo- 
gico-astronomical  hypothesis.  Having  so  perpetually  heard 
of  good  boys  being  put  up  into  the  sky  when  they  are  dead, 
and  being  now  beyond  measure  enamoured  of  the  lamps  in 
the  streets,  he  said  one  night  coming  through  the  streets, 
"  Stars  are  dead  lamps,  they  be'nt  naughty,  they  are  put 
up  in  the  sky."  Two  or  three  weeks  ago  he  was  talking 
to  himself  while  I  was  writing,  and  I  took  down  his  solilo- 
quy. It  would  make  a  most  original  poem. 

You  say,  I  illuminize.  I  think  that  property  will  some 
time  or  other  be  modified  by  the  predominance  of  intellect, 
even  as  rank  and  superstition  are  now  modified  by  and 
subordinated  to  property,  that  much  is  to  be  hoped  of  the 
future  ;  but  first  those  particular  modes  of  property  which 
more  particularly  stop  the  diffusion  must  be  done  away,  as 
injurious  to  property  itself ;  these  are  priesthood  and  the 
too  great  patronage  of  Government.  Therefore,  if  to  act 
on  the  belief  that  all  things  are  the  process,  and  that  inap- 
plicable truths  are  moral  falsehoods,  be  to  illuminize,  why 


324  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [JAN. 

then  I  illuminize !  I  know  that  I  have  been  obliged  to 
illuminize  so  late  at  night,  or  rather  mornings,  that  eyes 
have  smarted  as  if  I  had  allum  in  eyes  !  I  believe  I  have 
misspelt  the  word,  and  ought  to  have  written  Alum ;  that 
aside,  't  is  a  humorous  pun  ! 

Tell  Davy  that  I  will  soon  write.  God  love  him  !  You 
and  I,  Southey !  know  a  good  and  great  man  or  two  in  this 
world  of  ours. 

God  love  you,  my  dear  Southey,  and  your  affectionate 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

My  kind  love  to  Edith.  Let  me  hear  from  you,  and  do 
not  be  angry  with  me  that  I  don't  answer  your  letters 
regularly. 

CVI.    TO   THE   SAME. 

(Early  in  1800.) 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  shall  give  up  this  Newspaper 
business ;  it  is  too,  too  fatiguing.  I  have  attended  the 
Debates  twice,  and  the  first  time  I  was  twenty-five  hours 
in  activity,  and  that  of  a  very  unpleasant  kind ;  and  the 
second  time,  from  ten  in  the  morning  till  four  o'clock  the 
next  morning.  I  am  sure  that  you  will  excuse  my  silence, 
though  indeed  after  two  such  letters  from  you  I  cannot 
scarcely  excuse  it  myself.  First  of  the  book  business.  I 
find  a  resistance  which  I  did  not  expect  to  the  anonymous- 
ness  of  the  publication.  Longman  seems  confident  that 
a  work  on  such  a  subject  without  a  name  would  not  do. 
Translations  and  perhaps  Satires  are,  he  says,  the  only 
works  that  booksellers  now  venture  on  without  a  name. 
He  is  very  solicitous  to  have  your  "Thalaba,"  and  wonders 
(most  wonderful !)  that  you  do  not  write  a  novel.  That 
would  be  -the  thing !  and  truly,  if  by  no  more  pains  than  a 
"  St.  Leon  "  1  requires  you  could  get  four  hundred  pounds ! ! 

1  St.  Leon  -was  published  in  1799.  William  Godwin,  his  Friends  and 
Contemporaries,  i.  330. 


1800]  TO  EGBERT  SOUTHEY  325 

or  half  the  money,  I  say  so  too  !    If  we  were  together  we    ^ 
might  easily  toss  up  a  novel,  to  be  published  in  the  name   j 
of  one  of  us,  or  two,  if  that  were  all,  and  then  christen  'em 
by  lots.     As  sure  as  ink  flows  in  my  pen,  by  help  of  an 
amanuensis  I  could  write  a  volume  a  week  —  and  Godwin 
got  four  hundred  pounds  !  for  it  —  think  of  that,  Master 
Brooks.     I  hope  that  some  time  or  other  you  will  write  a 
novel  on  that  subject  of  yours !     I  mean  the  "  Rise  and 
Progress  of  a  Laugher  "    -  Le  Grice  in  your  eye  —  the 
effect  of  Laughing  on  taste,  manners,  morals,  and  happi- 
ness !   But  as  to  the  Jacobin  Book,  I  must  wait  till  I  hear 
from  you.     Phillips  would  be  very  glad  to  engage  you  to 
write  a  school  book  for  him,  the  History  of  Poetry  in  all 
nations,  about  400  pages ;  but  this,  too,  must  have  your 
name.     He  would  give  sixty  pounds.     If  poor  dear  Bur- 
nett were  with  you,  he  might  do  it  under  your  eye  and 
with  your  instructions  as  well  as  you  or  I  could  do  it,  but 
it  is  the  name.    Longman  remarked  acutely  enough,  "  The  ^ 
booksellers  scarcely  pretend  to  judge  the  merits  of  the  < 
book,  but  we  know  the  saleableness  of  the  name !  and  as 
they  continue  to  buy  most  books  on  the  calculation  of  a 
first  edition  of  a  thousand  copies,  they  are  seldom  much 
mistaken ;  for  the  name  gives  them  the  excuse  for  sending 
it  to  all  the  Gemmen  in  Great  Britain  and  the  Colonies, 
from  whom  they  have  standing  orders  for  new  books  of 
reputation."     This  is  the  secret  why  books  published  by    j 
country  booksellers,  or  by  authors  on  their  own  account,  so   / 
seldom  succeed. 

As  to  my  schemes  of  residence,  I  am  as  unfixed  as  your- 
self, only  that  we  are  under  the  absolute  necessity  of  fixing 
somewhere,  and  that  somewhere  will,  I  suppose,  be  Stowey. 
There  are  all  my  books  and  all  our  furniture.  In  May  I 
am  under  a  kind  of  engagement  to  go  with  Sara  .to  Ottery. 
My  family  wish  me  to  fix  there,  but  that  I  must  decline  in 
the  names  of  public  liberty  and  individual  free-agency. 
Elder  brothers,  not  senior  in  intellect,  and  not  sympathis- 


326  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [FEB. 

ingjjLJnain  opinions,  are  subjects  of  occasional  visits,  not 
temptations  to  a  co-township.  But  if  you  go  to  Burton, 
Sara  and  I  will  waive  the  Ottery  plan,  if  possible,  and 
spend  May  and  June  with  you,  and  perhaps  July ;  but  she 
must  be  settled  in  a  house  by  the  latter  end  of  July,  or  the 
first  week  in  August.  Till  we  are  with  you,  Sara  means 
to  spend  five  weeks  with  the  Roskillies,  and  a  week  or  two 
at  Bristol,  where  I  shall  join  her.  She  will  leave  London 
in  three  weeks  at  least,  perhaps  a  fortnight ;  and  I  shall 
give  up  lodgings  and  billet  myself  free  of  expense  at  my 
friend  Purkis's,  at  Brentford.  This  is  my  present  plan. 
O  my  dear  Southey !  I  would  to  God  that  your  health 
did  not  enforce  you  to  migrate  —  we  might  most  assuredly 
continue  to  fix  a  residence  somewhere,  which  might  pos- 
sess a  sort  of  centrality.  Alfoxden  would  make  two  houses 
sufficiently  divided  for  unimpinging  independence. 

Tell  Davy  that  I  have  not  forgotten  him,  because  with- 
out an  epilepsy  I  cannot  forget  him ;  and  if  I  wrote  to 
him  as  often  as  I  think  of  him,  Lord  have  mercy  on  his 
pocket ! 

God  bless  you  again  and  again. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

I  pass  this  evening  with  Charlotte  Smith  at  her  house. 

CVII.    TO   THE   SAME. 

[Postmark  February  18],  1800. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  What  do  you  mean  by  the 
words,  "  it  is  indeed  by  expectation  "  ?  speaking  of  your 
state  of  health.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  your  going  to 
a  strange  country  without  any  one  who  loves  and  under- 
stands you.  But  we  will  talk  of  all  this.  I  have  not  a 
moment's  time,  and  my  head  aches.  I  was  up  till  five 
o'clock  this  morning.  My  brain  is  so  overworked  that  I 
could  doze  troublously  and  with  cold  limbs,  so  affected 
was  my  circulation.  I  shall  do  no  more  for  Stuart. 


1800]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  327 

Read  Pitt's  speech1  in  the  "Morning  Post"  of  to-day 
(February  18,  Tuesday).  I  reported  the  whole  with 
notes  so  scanty,  that  —  Mr.  Pitt  is  much  obliged  to  me. 
For,  by  Heaven,  he  never  talked  half  as  eloquently  in  his 
life-time.  He  is  a  stupid,  insipid  charlatan,  that  Pitt. 
Indeed,  except  Fox,  I,  you,  or  anybody  might  learn  to 
speak  better  than  any  man  in  the  House.  For  the  next 
fortnight  I  expect  to  be  so  busy,  that  I  shall  go  out  of 
London  a  mile  or  so  to  be  wholly  uninterrupted.  I  do 
not  understand  the  Beguin-nings  2  of  Holland.  Phillips  is 
a  good-for-nothing  fellow,  but  what  of  that  ?  He  will 
give  you  sixty  pounds,  and  advance  half  the  money  now 
for  a  book  you  can  do  in  a  fortnight,  or  three  weeks  at 
farthest.  I  would  advise  you  not  to  give  it  up  so  hastily. 
Phillips  eats  no  flesh.  I  observe,  wittily  enough,  that 
whatever  might  be  thought  of  innate  ideas,  there  could  be 
no  doubt  to  a  man  who  had  seen  Phillips  of  the  existence 
of  innate  beef.  Let  my  "  Mad  Ox  "  keep  my  name. 
"  Fire  and  Famine  "  do  just  what  you  like  with.  I  have 

1  See  "  Mr.  Coleridge's  Report  of  and  champion  of  Jacobinism,"  which 

Mr.  Pitt's  Speech  in  Parliament  of  is   not   to   be   found  in    The    Times 

February  17,   1800,  On  the  con  tin-  report,  appears  in  the  notes  as  "  the 

uance    of  the   War  with   France."  nursling  and  champion  of  Jacobin- 

Morning  Post,  February  18,  1800;  ism,"  and,  if  these  were  the  words 

Essays  on  His  Own  Times,  ii.  293.  which   Pitt   used,    in   this  instance, 

See,    too,   Mrs.    H.    N.    Coleridge's  Coleridge  altered  for  the  worse, 

note,  and  the  report  of  the  speech  2  "The  Beguines   I   had   looked 

in  The  Times.     Ibid.  iii.  1009-1019.  upon   as  a  religious   establishment, 

The  original  notes,  which  Coleridge  and  the  only  good  one  of  its  kind, 

took  in  pencil,  have  been  preserved  When  my  brother  was  a  prisoner  at 

in   one   of    his    note-books.      They  Brest,  the  sick  and  wounded  were 

consist,  for  the  most  part,  of  skele-  attended  by  nurses,  and  these  women 

ton  sentences  and  fragmentary  jot-  had  made    themselves   greatly   be- 

tings.    How  far  Coleridge  may  have  loved   and   respected."    Southey  to 

reconstructed    Pitt's    speech   as  he  Rickman,   January   9,   1800.      Life 

went  along,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  and  Correspondence,  ii.  46.    It  is  well 

but  the  speech  as  reported  follows  known  that  Southey  advocated  the 

pretty   closely   the   outlines   in   the  establishment  of  Protestant  orders 

note-book.       The    remarkable    de-  of  Sisters  of  Mercy, 
scriptipn  of  Buonaparte  as  the  "  child 


328  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [FEB. 

no  wish  either  way.  The  "  Fears  in  Solitude,"  I  fear, 
is  not  my  property,  and  I  have  no  encouragement  to 
think  it  will  be  given  up,  but  if  I  hear  otherwise  I  will 
let  you  know  speedily ;  in  the  mean  time,  do  not  rely  on 
it.  Your  review-plan1  cannot  answer  for  this  reason. 
It  could  exist  only  as  long  as  the  ononymous  anti-anony- 
mists  remained  in  life,  health,  and  the  humour,  and  no 
publisher  would  undertake  a  periodical  publication  on  so 
gossamery  a  tie.  Besides,  it  really  would  not  be  right 
for  any  man  to  make  so  many  people  have  strange  and 
uncomfortable  feelings  towards  him ;  which  must  be  the 
case,  however  kind  the  reviews  might  be  —  and  what  but 
nonsense  is  published  ?  The  author  of  "  Gebir "  I  can- 
not find  out.  There  are  none  of  his  books  in  town.  You 
have  made  a  sect  of  Gebirites  by  your  review,  but  it  was 
not  a  fair,  though  a  very  kind  review.  I  have  sent  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Fricker,  which  Sara  directed  to  you.  I 
hope  it  has  come  safe.  Let  me  see,  are  there  any  other 
questions  ? 

So,  my  dear  Southey,  God  love  you,  and  never,  never 
cease  to  believe  that  I  am  affectionately  yours, 

S.  T.  COLEEIDGE. 

Love  to  Edith. 

CVIII.   TO  THE   SAME. 

No.  21  Buckingham  Street  [early  in  1800]: 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  will  see  Longman  on  Tues- 
day, at  the  farthest,  but  I  pray  you  send  me  up  what  you 
have  done,  if  you  can,  as  I  will  read  it  to  him,  unless  he 
will  take  my  word  for  it.  But  we  cannot  expect  that  he 
will  treat  finally  without  seeing  a  considerable  specimen. 
Send  it  by  the  coach,  and  be  assured  that  it  will  be  as 

1  In   a    letter    from  Southey   to  the    Levelling     Principle,"     which 

Coleridge,  dated  February  15,  1800  Coleridge  had  suggested  as  a  joint 

(unpublished),  he  proposes  the  es-  work,  he  would  only  publish  anony- 

tablishment    of    a    Magazine    with  mously. 
signed  articles.     But  a  "  History  of 


1800]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  329 

safe  as  in  your  own  escritoire,  and  I  will  remit  it  the 
very  day  Longman  or  any  bookseller  has  treated  for  it 
satisfactorily.  Less  than  two  hundred  pounds  I  would 
not  take.  Have  you  tried  warm  bathing  in  a  high  tem- 
perature ?  As  to  your  travelling,  your  first  business 
must,  of  course,  be  to  settle.  The  Greek  Islands  l  and 
Turkey  in  general  are  one  continued  Hounslow  Heath, 
only  that  the  highwaymen  there  have  an  awkward  habit 
of  murdering  people.  As  to  Poland  and  Hungary,  the 
detestable  roads  and  inns  of  them  both,  and  the  severity 
of  the  climate  in  the  former,  render  travelling  there  little 
suited  to  your  state  of  health.  Oh !  for  peace  and  the 
South  of  France  !  What  a  detestable  villainy  is  not  the 
new  Constitution.2  I  have  written  all  that  relates  to  it 
which  has  appeared  in  the  "  Morning  Post ; "  and  not 
without  strength  or  elegance.  But  the  French  are  chil- 
dren.3 'Tis  an  infirmity  to  hope  or  fear  concerning 
them.  I  wish  they  had  a  king  again,  if  it  were  only  that 
Sieyes  and  Bonaparte  might  be  hung.  Guillotining  is 
too  republican  a  death  for  such  reptiles !  You  '11  write 
another  quarter  for  Mr.  Stuart  ?  You  will  torture  your- 

1  See    Letter    from    Southey    to  and  inflexible,  who  should  have  lev- 
Coleridge,  December  27,  1799.    Life  elled  the  property  of  France,  and 
and  Correspondence,  ii.  35.  then  would  the  Republic  have  been 

2  "  Concerning  the  French,  I  wish  immortal  —  and    the    world     must 
Bonaparte  had  staid  in  Egypt  and  have  been  revolutionized  by  exam- 
that   Robespierre   had  guilloteened  pie."     From  an  unpublished  letter 
Sieyes.     These  cursed  complex  gov-  from  Southey  to   Coleridge,   dated 
ernments  are  good  for  nothing,  and  December  23,  1799. 

will   ever  be   in   the   hands  of   in-  3  "  Alas,  poor  human  nature !    Or 

triguers :  the  Jacobins  were  the  men,  rather,  indeed,  alas,  poor  Gallic  na- 

and   one  house   of    representatives,  ture !      For    Tpatot    del    irotSey    the 

lodging  the  executive  in  committees,  French  are  always  children,  and  it 

the   plain   and   common  system    of  is    an  infirmity   of  benevolence   to 

government.      The  cause  of  repub-  wish,    or    dread,   aught    concerning 

licanism  is  over,  and  it  is  now  only  them."       S.   T.   C.,   Morning   Post, 

a  struggle   for    dominion.       There  December  31, 1797 ;  Essays  on  His 

wants  a  Lycurgus  after  Robespierre,  Own  Times,  i.  184. 
a  man  loved  for  his  virtue,  and  bold 


330  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [FEB. 

self  for  twelve  or  thirteen  guineas  ?  I  pray  you  do  not 
do  so !  You  might  get  without  the  exertion,  and  with  but 
little  more  expenditure  of  time,  from  fifty  to  an  hundred 
pounds.  Thus,  for  instance,  bring  together  on  your  table, 
or  skim  over  successively  Briicker,  Lardner's  "  History 
of  Heretics,"  Russell's  "Modern  Europe,"  and  Andrews' 
"History  of  England,"  and  write  a  history  of  levellers 
and  the  levelling  principle  under  some  goodly  title,  nei- 
ther praising  or  abusing  them.  Laceda3mon,  Crete,  and 
the  attempts  at  agrarian  laws  in  Rome  —  all  these  you 
have  by  heart.  .  .  .  Plato  and  Zeno  are,  I  believe,  nearly 
all  that  relates  to  the  purpose  in  Briicker.  Lardner's 
is  a  most  amusing  book  to  read.  Write  only  a  sheet 
of  letter  paper  a  day,  which  you  can  easily  do  in  an 
hour,  and  in  twelve  weeks  you  will  have  produced  (with- 
out any  toil  of  brains,  observing  none  but  chronological 
arrangement,  and  giving  you  little  more  than  the  trouble 
of  transcription)  twenty -four  sheets  octavo.  I  will 
gladly  write  a  philosophical  introduction  that  shall  en- 
lighten without  offending,  and  therein  state  the  rise  of 
property,  etc.  For  this  you  might  secure  sixty  or  seventy 
guineas,  and  receive  half  the  money  on  producing  the  first 
eight  sheets,  in  a  month  from  your  first  commencement  of 
the  work.  Many  other  works  occur  to  me,  but  I  mention 
this  because  it  might  be  doing  great  good,  inasmuch  as 
boys  and  youths  would  read  it  with  far  different  impres- 
sions from  their  fathers  and  godfathers,  and  yet  the  latter 
find  nothing  alarming  in  the  nature  of  the  work,  it  being 
purely  historical.  If  I  am  not  deceived  by  the  recency 
of  their  date,  my  "  Ode  to  the  Duchess  "  and  my  "  Xmas 
Carol  "  will  do  for  your  "  Anthology."  I  have  therefore 
transcribed  them  for  you.  But  I  need  not  ask  you,  for 
God's  sake,  to  use  your  own  judgment  without  spare. 

(No  signature.) 


1800]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  331 

CIX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

February  28,  1800. 

It  goes  to  my  heart,  my  dear  Southey !  to  sit  down  and 
write  to  you,  knowing  that  I  can  scarcely  fill  half  a  side 
—  the  postage  lies  on  my  conscience.  I  am  translating 
manuscript  plays  of  Schiller.1  They  are  poems,  full  of 
long  speeches,  in  very  polish'd  blank  verse.  The  theatre ! 
the  theatre !  my  dear  Southey !  it  will  never,  never,  never 
do !  If  you  go  to  Portugal,  your  History  thereof  will  do, 
but,  for  present  money,  novels  or  translations.  I  do  not 
see  that  a  book  said  by  you  in  the  preface  to  have  been 
written  merely  as  a  book  for  young  persons  could  injure 
your  reputation  more  than  Milton's  "  Accidence  "  injured 
his.  I  would  do  it,  because  you  can  do  it  so  easily.  It 
is  not  necessary  that  you  should  say  much  about  French 
or  German  Literature.  Do  it  so.  Poetry  of  savage  na- 
tions —  Poetry  of  rudely  civilized  —  Homer  and  the  He- 
brew Poetry,  etc.  —  Poetry  of  civilized  nations  under 
Republics  and  Polytheism,  State  of  Poetry  under  the  Ro- 
man and  Greek  Empires  —  Revival  of  it  in  Italy,  in  Spain, 
and  England  —  then  go  steadily  on  with  England  to  the 
end,  except  one  chapter  about  German  Poetry  to  conclude 
with,  which  I  can  write  for  you. 

In  the  "  Morning  Post "  was  a  poem  of  fascinating 
metre  by  Mary  Robinson ;  't  was  on  Wednesday,  Feb. 
26,  and  entitled  the  "  Haunted  Beach."  2  I  was  so  struck 
with  it  that  I  sent  to  her  to  desire  that  [it]  might  be  pre- 
served in  the  "  Anthology."  She  was  extremely  flattered 
by  the  idea  of  its  being  there,  as  she  idolizes  you  and  your 
doings.  So,  if  it  be  not  too  late,  I  pray  you  let  it  be  in.  If 
you  should  not  have  received  that  day's  paper,  write  im- 

1  See  Poetical  Works,  Appendix  K,  And  mark'd  his  Murderer  wash  his  hand 

pp.    544,    545.      Editor's    Note,    pp.  Where  the  green  billows  played  !» 

646-649.  Annual     Anthology,     1800 :     "  The 

2  "  The  winter  Moon  upon  the  sand  Haunted   Beach,"   sixth  stanza,  p. 

A  silvery  Carpet  made,  256. 

And  mark'd  the  sailor  reach  the  land  — 


332  FROM  SOUTH  TO  NORTH  [FEB. 

mediately  that  I  may  transcribe  it.  It  falls  off  sadly  to 
the  last,  wants  tale  and  interest ;  but  the  images  are  new 
and  very  distinct  —  that  "  silvery  carpet "  is  so  just  that 
it  is  unfortunate  it  should  seem  so  bad,  for  it  is  really 
good ;  but  the  metre,  ay !  that  woman  has  an  ear.  Wil- 
liam Taylor,  from  whom  I  have  received  a  couple  of  let- 
ters full  of  thought  and  information,  says  what  astounded 
me,  that  double  rhymes  in  our  language  have  always  a 
ludicrous  association.  Mercy  on  the  man  !  where  are  his 
ears  and  feelings  ?  His  taste  cannot  be  quite  right,  from 
this  observation  ;  but  he  is  a  famous  fellow  —  that  is  not 
to  be  denied. 

Sara  is  poorly  still.  Hartley  rampant,  and  emperorizes 
with  your  pictures.  Har1?y  is  a  fine  boy.  Hartley  told  a 
gentleman,  "  Metinks  you  are  like  Southey"  and  he  was 
not  wholly  unlike  you  —  but  the  chick  calling  you  simple 
"  Southey,"  so  pompously ! 

God  love  you  and  your  Edith. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


CHAPTER   VI 

A  LAKE  POET 
1800-1803 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   LAKE   POET 

1800-1803 

CX.    TO  THOMAS   POOLE. 

August  14,  1800. 

MY  DEAR  POOLE,  — Your  two  letters J I  received  exactly 
four  days  ago  —  some  days  they  must  have  been  lying  at 
Ambleside  before  they  were  sent  to  Grasmere,  and  some 
days  at  Grasmere  before  they  moved  to  Keswick.  ...  It 
grieved  me  that  you  had  felt  so  much  from  my  silence. 
Believe  me,  I  have  been  harassed  with  business,  and  shall 
remain  so  for  the  remainder  of  this  year.  Our  house  is  a 
delightful  residence,  something  less  than  half  a  mile  from 
the  lake  of  Keswick  and  something  more  than  a  furlong 
from  the  town.  It  commands  both  that  lake  and  the  lake 
of  Bassenthwaite.  Skiddaw  is  behind  us ;  to  the  left,  the 
right,  and  in  front  mountains  of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  The 
waterfall  of  Lodore  is  distinctly  visible.  In  garden,  etc., 
we  are  uncommonly  well  off,  and  our  landlord,  who  re- 
sides next  door  in  this  twofold  house,  is  already  much 
attached  to  us.  He  is  a  quiet,  sensible  man,  with  as  large 
a  library  as  yours,  —  and  perhaps  rather  larger, —  well 
stored  with  encyclopaedias,  dictionaries,  and  histories,  etc., 
all  modern.  The  gentry  of  the  country,  titled  and  unti- 
tled,  have  all  called  or  are  about  to  call  on  me,  and  I  shall 

1  These  letters,  under  the  title  of  tion  to  No.  III.  of  "  Farmers,"  "  In 

"  Monopolists  "  and  "  Farmers, "  ap-  what  manner  they  are  affected  hy 

peared  in  the  Morning  Post,  Octo-  the  War ."  Essays  on  His  Own  Times, 

ber  3-9,  1800.     Coleridge  wrote  the  ii.  413-450 ;   Thomas  Poole  and  his 

first  of  the  series,  and  the  introduc-  Friends,  ii.  15,  16. 


336  A  LAKE  POET  [Ocr. 

have  free  access  to  the  magnificent  library  of  Sir  Gilfrid 
Lawson.  I  wish  you  could  come  here  in  October  after 
your  harvesting,  and  stand  godfather  at  the  christening 
of  ray  child.  In  October  the  country  is  in  all  its  blaze  of 
beauty. 

We  are  well  and  the  Wordsworths  are  well.  The  two 
volumes  of  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads  "  will  appear  in  about  a 
fortnight  or  three  weeks.  Sara  sends  her  best  kind  love 
to  your  mother.  How  much  we  rejoice  in  her  health  I 
need  not  say.  Love  to  Ward,  and  to  Chester,  to  whom  I 
shall  write  as  soon  as  I  am  at  leisure.  I  was  standing  at 
the  very  top  of  Skiddaw,  by  a  little  shed  of  slate  stones 
on  which  I  had  scribbled  with  a  bit  of  slate  my  name 
among  the  other  names.  A  lean-expression-faced  man 
came  up  the  hill,  stood  beside  me  a  little  while,  then,  on 
running  over  the  names,  exclaimed,  "  Coleridge !  I  lay  my 
life  that  is  the  poet  Coleridge  !  " 

God  bless  you,  and  for  God's  sake  never  doubt  that  I 
am  attached  to  you  beyond  all  other  men. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXI.    TO    SIR   H.    DAVY. 

Thursday  night,  October  9,  1800. 

MY  DEAR  DAVY,  —  I  was  right  glad,  glad  with  a  stag- 
ger of  the  heart,  to  see  your  writing  again.  Many  a  mo- 
ment have  I  had  all  my  France  and_  England  curiosity 
suspended  and  lost,  looking  in  the  advertisement  front 
column  of  the  "  Morning  Post  Gazeteer  "  for  Mr.  Davy's 
Galvanic  habitudes  of  charcoal.  —  Upon  my  soul  I  be- 
lieve there  is  not  a  letter  in  those  words  round  which  a 
world  of  imagery  does  not  circumvolve  ;  your  room,  the 
garden,  the  cold  bath,  the  moonlight  rocks,  Barristed, 
Moore,  and  simple-looking  Frere,  and  dreams  of  wonderful 
things  attached  to  your  name,  —  and  Skiddaw,  and  Glara- 
mara,  and  Eagle  Crag,  and  you,  and  Wordsworth,  and  me, 
on  the  top  of  them !  I  pray  you  do  write  to  me  imme- 


fti.'*  £         r       - i    N»J  * 

j 

t!      i 

•  :      '  •' 


^<i 

• 


1800]  TO   SIR  H.  DAVY  337 

diately,  and  tell  me  what  you  mean  by  the  possibility  of 
your  assuming  a  new  occupation.  Have  you  been  suc- 
cessful to  the  extent  of  your  expectations  in  your  late 
chemical  inquiries  ? 

As  to  myself,  I  am  doing  little  worthy  the  relation. 
I  write  for  Stuart  in  the  "  Morning  Post,"  and  I  am 
compelled  by  the  god  Pecunia  —  which  was  one  name  of 
the  supreme  Jupiter  —  to  give  a  volume  of  letters  from 
Germany,  which  will  be  a  decent  lounge  book,  and  not 
an  atom  more.  The  "  Christabel "  was  running  up  to 
1,300  lines,1  and  was  so  much  admired  by  Wordsworth, 
that  he  thought  it  indelicate  to  print  two  volumes  with 
his  name,  in  which  so  much  of  another  man's  was  in- 
cluded; and,  which  was  of  more  consequence,  the  poem 
was  in  direct  opposition  to  the  very  purpose  for  which 
the  lyrical  ballads  were  published,  viz.,  an  experiment  to 
see  how  far  those  passions  which  alone  give  any  value  to 
extraordinary  incidents  were  capable  of  interesting,  in  and 
for  themselves,  in  the  incidents  of  common  life.  We 
mean  to  publish  the  "  Christabel,"  therefore,  with  a  long 
blank-verse  poem  of  Wordsworth's,  entitled  "The  Ped- 
lar." 2  I  assure  you  I  think  very  differently  of  "  Christa- 
bel." I  would  rather  have  written  "  Ruth,"  and  "  Nature's 
Lady,"  than  a  million  such  poems.  But  why  do  I  calum- 
niate my  own  spirit  by  saying  •"  I  would  rather  "  ?  God 
knows  it  is  as  delightful  to  me  that  they  are  written. 
I  know  that  at  present,  and  I  hope  that  it  will  be  so; 
my  mind  has  disciplined  itself  into  a  willing  exertion  of 
its  powers,  without  any  reference  to  their  comparative 
value. 

1  It  is  impossible  to  explain  this  it  ever  existed,  has  never  come  to 

statement,  which  was  repeated  in  a  light.      See   Mr.   Dykes  Campbell's 

letter  to  Josiah   Wedgwood,  dated  valuable    and    exhaustive    note    on 

November    1,    1800.      The   printed  "Christabel,"   Poetical   Works,  pp. 

"  Christabel,"  even  including  the  con-  601-607. 

elusion  to  Part  II.,  makes  only  677        2  A  former  title  of  "  The  Excur- 

lines,  and  the  discarded  portion,  if  sion." 


338  A  LAKE  POET  [Ocx. 

I  cannot  speak  favourably  of  W.'s  health,  but,  indeed, 
he  has  not  done  common  justice  to  Dr.  Beddoes's  kind 
prescriptions.  I  saw  his  countenance  darken,  and  all  his 
hopes  vanish,  when  he  saw  the  prescriptions  —  his  scepti- 
cism concerning  medicines  1  nay,  it  is  not  enough  scep- 
ticism !  Yet,  now  that  peas  and  beans  are  over,  I  have 
hopes  that  he  will  in  good  earnest  make  a  fair  and  full 
trial.  I  rejoice  with  sincere  joy  at  Beddoes's  recovery. 

Wordsworth  is  fearful  you  have  been  much  teased  by 
the  printers  on  his  account,  but  you  can  sympathise  with 
him.  The  works  which  I  gird  myself  up  to  attack  as 
soon  as  money  concerns  will  permit  me  are  the  Life  of 
Lessing,  and  the  Essay  on  Poetry.  The  latter  is  still 
more  at  my  heart  than  the  former :  its  title  would  be  an 
essay  on  the  elements  of  poetry,  —  it  would  be  in  reality 
a  disguised  system  of  morals  and  politics.  When  you 
write,  —  and  do  write  soon,  —  tell  me  how  I  can  get  your 
essay  on  the  nitrous  oxide.  If  you  desired  Johnson  to 
have  one  sent  to  Lackington's,  to  be  placed  in  Mr.  Cros- 
thwaite's  monthly  parcel  for  Keswick,  I  should  receive  it. 
Are  your  galvanic  discoveries  important?  What  do 
they  lead  to  ?  All  this  is  ultra-crepidation,  but  would  to 
Heaven  I  had  as  much  knowledge  as  I  have  sympathy ! 

My  wife  and  children  are  well ;  the  baby  was  dying 
some  weeks  ago,  so  the  good  people  would  have  it  bap- 
tized ;  his  name  is  Derwent  Coleridge,1  so  called  from  the 

"  Sunday  night,  half  past  ten,  sion  here  recorded,"   he  writes,  "  I 

September    14,    1800,    a  boy   born  had  eleven  convulsion  fits.     At  last 

(Bracy).  nay  father  took  my  mother  gently 

"  September  27,  1800.     The  child  out  of  the  room,  and  told  her  that 

being  very  ill  was  baptized  by  the  she  must  make  up  her  mind  to  lose 

name  of  Derwent.     The  child,  hour  this  child.      By  and  by  she  heard 

after  hour,  made  a  noise  exactly  like  the  nurse  lulling  me,  and  said  she 

the  creaking  of  a  door  which  is  be-  would  try  once  more  to  give  me  the 

ing  shut  very  slowly  to  prevent  its  breast."    She  did  so ;  and  from  that 

creaking."     (MS.)    S.  T.  C.  time  all  went  well,  and  the   child 

My  father's  life  was  saved  by  his  recovered, 
mother's  devotion.      "  On  the  occa- 


1800]  TO  SIR  H.  DAVY  339 

river,  for,  fronting  our  house,  the  Greta  runs  into  the  Der- 
went.  Had  it  been  a  girl  the  name  should  have  been 
Greta.  By  the  bye,  Greta,  or  rather  Grieta,  is  exactly 
the  Cocytus  of  the  Greeks.  The  word,  literally  rendered 
in  modern  English,  is  "the  loud  lamenter;"  to  griet  in 
the  Cambrian  dialect,  signifying  to  roar  aloud  for  grief  or 
pain,  and  it  does  roar  with  a  vengeance !  I  will  say 
nothing  about  spring  —  a  thirsty  man  tries  to  think  of 
anything  but  the  stream  when  he  knows  it  to  be  ten  miles 
off  !  God  bless  you ! 

Your  most  affectionate  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXII.   TO   THE   SAME. 

October  18,  1800. 

MY  DEAR  DAVY,  —  Our  mountains  northward  end  in 
the  mountain  Carrock,  —  one  huge,  steep,  enormous  bulk 
of  stones,  desolately  variegated  with  the  heath  plant ;  at 
its  foot  runs  the  river  Calder,  and  a  narrow  vale  between  it 
and  the  mountain  Bowscale,  so  narrow,  that  in  its  greatest 
width  it  is  not  more  than  a  furlong.  But  that  narrow  vale 
is  so  green,  so  beautiful,  there  are  moods  in  which  a  man 
might  weep  to  look  at  it.  On  this  mountain  Carrock, 
at  the  summit  of  which  are  the  remains  of  a  vast  Druid 
circle  of  stones,  I  was  wandering,  when  a  thick  cloud 
came  on,  and  wrapped  me  in  such  darkness  that  I  could 
not  see  ten  yards  before  me,  and  with  the  cloud  a  storm 
of  wind  and  hail,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  before 
seen  and  felt.  At  the  very  summit  is  a  cone  of  stones, 
built  by  the  shepherds,  and  called  the  Carrock  Man. 
Such  cones  are  on  the  tops  of  almost  all  our  mountains, 
and  they  are  all  called  men.  At  the  bottom  of  the  Carrock 
Man  I  seated  myself  for  shelter,  but  the  wind  became  so 
fearful  and  tyrannous,  that  I  was  apprehensive  some  of 
the  stones  might  topple  down  upon  me,  so  I  groped  my 
way  farther  down  and  came  to  three  rocks,  placed  on 
this  wise,  x/^,  each  one  supported  by  the  other  like  a 


340  A  LAKE  POET  [DEC. 

child's  house  of  cards,  and  in  the  hollow  and  screen  which 
they  made  I  sate  for  a  long  while  sheltered,  as  if  I  had 
been  in  my  own  study  in  which  I  am  now  writing :  there 
I  sate  with  a  total  feeling  worshipping  the  power  and 
"  eternal  link  "  of  energy.  The  darkness  vanished  as  by 
enchantment ;  far  off,  far,  far  off  to  the  south,  the  moun- 
tains of  Glaramara  and  Great  Gable  and  their  family 
appeared  distinct,  in  deepest,  sablest  blue.  I  rose,  and 
behind  me  was  a  rainbow  bright  as  the  brightest.  I  de- 
scended by  the  side  of  a  torrent,  and  passed,  or  rather 
crawled  (for  I  was  forced  to  descend  on  all  fours),  by 
many  a  naked  waterfall,  till,  fatigued  and  hungry  (and 
with  a  finger  almost  broken,  and  which  remains  swelled 
to  the  size  of  two  fingers),  I  reached  the  narrow  vale,  and 
the  single  house  nestled  in  ash  and  sycamores.  I  entered 
to  claim  the  universal  hospitality  of  this  country ;  but 
instead  of  the  life  and  comfort  usual  in  these  lonely 
houses,  I  saw  dirt,  and  every  appearance  of  misery  —  a 
pale  woman  sitting  by  a  peat  fire.  I  asked  her  for  bread 
and  milk,  and  she  sent  a  small  child  to  fetch  it,  but  did 
not  rise  herself.  I  eat  very  heartily  of  the  black,  sour 
bread,  and  drank  a  bowl  of  milk,  and  asked  her  to  per- 
mit me  to  pay  her.  "  Nay,"  says  she,  "  we  are  not  so 
scant  as  that  —  you  are  right  welcome ;  but  do  you  know 
any  help  for  the  rheumatics,  for  I  have  been  so  long  ail- 
ing that  I  am  almost  fain  to  die?"  So  I  advised  her  to 
eat  a  great  deal  of  mustard,  having  seen  in  an  advertise- 
ment something  about  essence  of  mustard  curing  the 
most  obstinate  cases  of  rheumatism.  But  do  write  me, 
and  tell  me  some  cure  for  the  rheumatism ;  it  is  in  her 
shoulders,  and  the  small  of  her  back  chiefly.  I  wish 
much  to  go  off  with  some  bottles  of  stuff  to  the  poor 
creature.  I  should  walk  the  ten  miles  as  ten  yards. 
With  love  and  honour,  my  dear  Davy, 

Yours,  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


1800]  TO  SIR  H.  DAVY  341 

CXIII.    TO   THE   SAME. 

GEETA  HALL,  Tuesday  night,  December  2,  1800. 

MY  DEAR  DAVY,  —  By  an  accident  I  did  not  receive 
your  letter  till  this  evening.  I  would  that  you  had  added 
to  the  account  of  your  indisposition  the  probable  causes 
of  it.  It  has  left  me  anxious  whether  or  no  you  have  not 
exposed  yourself  to  unwholesome  influences  in  your  chem- 
ical pursuits.  There  are  few  beings  both  of  hope  and 
performance,  but  few  who  combine  the  "  are  "  and  the 
"will  be."  For  God's  sake,  therefore,  my  dear  fellow, 
do  not  rip  open  the  bird  that  lays  the  golden  eggs.  I 
have  not  received  your  book.  I  read  yesterday  a  sort  of 
medical  review  about  it.  I  suppose  Longman  will  send 
it  to  me  when  he  sends  down  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads  "  to 
Wordsworth.  I  am  solicitous  to  read  the  latter  part. 
Did  there  appear  to  you  any  remote  analogy  between  the 
case  I  translated  from  the  German  Magazine  and  the 
effects  produced  by  your  gas  ?  Did  Carlisle  l  ever  com- 
municate to  you,  or  has  he  in  any  way  published  his  facts 
concerning  pain  which  he  mentioned  when  we  were  with 
him  ?  It  is  a  subject  which  exceedingly  interests  me.  I 
want  to  read  something  by  somebody  expressly  on  pain^ 
if  only  to  give  an  arrangement  to  my  own  thoughts, 
though  if  it  were  well  treated  I  have  little  doubt  it  would 
revolutionize  them.  For  the  last  month  I  have  been 
trembling  on  through  sands  and  swamps  of  evil  and 
bodily  grievance.  My  eyes  have  been  inflamed  to  a  de- 
gree that  rendered  reading  and  writing  scarcely  possible  ; 
and,  strange  as  it  seems,  the  act  of  metre  composition,  as 
I  lay  in  bed,  perceptibly  affected  them,  and  my  voluntary 
ideas  wore  every  minute  passing,  more  or  less  transformed 
into  vivid  spectra.  I  had  leeches  repeatedly  applied  to 
my  temples,  and  a  blister  behind  my  ear  —  and  my  eyes 
are  now  my  own,  but  in  the  place  where  the  blister  was, 
1  Afterwards  Sir  Anthony,  the  distinguished  surgeon,  1768-1840. 


342  A  LAKE  POET  [DEC. 

six  small  but  excruciating  boils  have  appeared,  and  harass 
me  almost  beyond  endurance.  In  the  mean  time  my  dar- 
ling Hartley  has  been  taken  with  a  stomach  illness,  which 
has  ended  in  the  yellow  jaundice ;  and  this  greatly  alarms 
me.  So  much  for  the  doleful !  Amid  all  these  changes, 
and  humiliations,  and  fears,  the  sense  of  the  Eternal 
abides  in  me,  and  preserves  unsubdued  my  cheerful  faith, 
that  all  I  endure  is  full  of  blessings ! 

At  times,  indeed,  I  would  fain  be  somewhat  of  a  more 
tangible  utility_than  I  am ;  but  so  I  suppose  it  is  with  all 
of  us  —  one  while  cheerful,  stirring,  feeling  in  resistance 
nothing  but  a  joy  and  a  stimulus  ;  another  while  drowsy, 
self-distrusting,  prone  to  rest,  loathing  our  own  self- 
promises,  withering  our  own  hopes  —  our  hopes,  the 
vitality  and  cohesion  of  our  being  ! 

I  purpose  to  have  "  Christabel  "  published  by  itself  — 
this  I  publish  with  confidence  —  but  my  travels  in  Ger- 
many come  from  me  now  with  mortal  pangs.  Nothing 
but  the  most  pressing  necessity  could  have  induced  me  — 
and  even  now  I  hesitate  and  tremble.  Be  so  good  as  to 
have  all  that  is  printed  of  "  Christabel "  sent  to  me  per 
post. 

Wordsworth  has  nearly  finished  the  concluding  poem. 
!  It  is  of  a  mild,  unimposing  character,  but  full  of  beauties 
to  those  short-necked  men  who  have  their  hearts  suffi' 
ciently  near  their  heads  —  the  relative  distance  of  which 
(according  to  citizen  Tourdes,  the  French  translator  of 
Spallanzani)  determines  the  sagacity  or  stupidity  of  all 
bipeds  and  quadrupeds. 

There  is  a  deep  blue  cloud  over  the  heavens ;  the  lake, 
and  the  vale,  and  the  mountains  are  all  in  darkness ; 
only  the  summits  of  all  the  mountains  in  long  ridges, 
covered  with  snow,  are  bright  to  a  dazzling  excess.  A 
glorious  scene  !  Hartley  was  in  my  arms  the  other  even- 
ing, looking  at  the  sky ;  he  saw  the  moon  glide  into  a 
large  cloud.  Shortly  after,  at  another  part  of  the  cloud, 


1800]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  343 

several   stars   sailed   in.      Says   he,  "  Pretty   creatures ! 
they  are  going  in  to  see  after  their  mother  moon." 

Remember  me  kindly  to  King.  Write  as  often  as  you 
can ;  but  above  all  things,  my  loved  and  honoured  dear 
fellow,  do  not  give  up  the  idea  of  letting  me  and  Skiddaw 
see  you.  God  love  you  ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Tobin  writes  me  that  Thompson l  has  made  some  lucra- 
tive discovery.  Do  you  know  aught  about  it?  Have 
you  seen  T.  Wedgwood  since  his  return  ? 

CXIV.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 
GRETA  HALL,  KESWICK,  Saturday  night,  December  5,  1800. 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND,  —  I  have  been  prevented  from 
answering  your  last  letter  entirely  by  the  state  of  my 
eyes,  and  my  wish  to  write  more  fully  to  you  than  their 
weakness  would  permit.  For  the  last  month  and  more  I 
have  indeed  been  a  very  crazy  machine.  .  .  .  That  con- 
sequence of  this  long-continued  ill-health  which  I  most 
regret  is,  that  it  has  thrown  me  so  sadly  behindhand  in 
the  performance  of  my  engagements  with  the  bookseller, 
that  I  almost  fear  I  shall  not  be  able  to  raise  money 
enough  by  Christmas  to  make  it  prudent  for  me  to  jour- 
ney southward.  I  shall,  however,  try  hard  for  it.  My 
plan  was  to  go  to  London,  and  make  a  faint  trial  whether 
or  no  I  could  get  a  sort  of  dramatic  romance,  which  I 
had  more  than  half  finished,  upon  the  stage,  and  from 
London  to  visit  Stowey  and  Gunville.  Dear  little  Hart- 
ley has  been  ill  in  a  stomach  complaint  which  ended  in 
the  yellow  jaundice,  and  frightened  me  sorely,  as  you  may 
well  believe.  But,  praise  be  to  God,  he  is  recovered  and 
begins  to  look  like  himself.  He  is  a  very  extraordinary 

1  According  to  Dr.  Davy,  the  ed-     ence  is  to  the  late  Mr.  James  Thomp- 
itor  of  Fragmentary  Remains  of  Sir    son  of  Clitheroe. 
H.  Davy,  London,  1858,  the  refer- 


344  A  LAKE   POET  [FEB. 

creature,  and  if  he  live  will,  I  doubt  not,  prove  a  great 
genius.  Derwent  is  a  fat,  pretty  child,  healthy  and  hun- 
gry. I  deliberated  long  whether  I  should  not  call  him 
Thomas  Poole  Coleridge,  and  at  last  gave  up  the  idea 
only  because  your  nephew  is  called  Thomas  Poole,  and 
because  if  ever  it  should  be  my  destiny  once  again  to  live 
near  you,  I  believed  that  such  a  name  would  give  pain  to 
some  branches  of  your  family.  You  will  scarcely  exact 
a  very  severe  account  of  what  a  man  has  been  doing  who 
has  been  obliged  for  days  and  days  together  to  keep  his 
bed.  Yet  I  have  not  been  altogether  idle,  having  in  my 
own  conceit  gained  great  light  into  several  parts  of  the 
human  mind  which  have  hitherto  remained  either  wholly 
unexplained  or  most  falsely  explained.  To  one  resolution 
I  am  wholly  made  up,  to  wit,  that  as  soon  as  I  am  a  free- 
man in  the  world  of  money  I  will  never  write  a  line  for 
the  express  purpose  of  money  (but  only  as  believing  it 
good  and  useful,  in  some  way  or  other).  Although  Ijam 
certain  that  I  have  been  greatly  improving  both  in  know- 
ledge and  power  in  these  last  twelve  months,  yet  still  at 
times  it  presses  upon  me  with  a  painful  weight  that  I  have 
not  evidenced  a  more  tangible  utility.  I  have  too  much 
trifled  with  my  reputation.  You  have  conversed  much 
with  Davy  ;  he  is  delighted  with  you.  What  do  you  think 
of  him  ?  Is  he  not  a  great  man,  think  you  ?  .  .  .  I  and 
my  wife  were  beyond  measure  delighted  by  your  account 
of  your  mother's  health.  Give  our  best,  kindest  loves  to 
her.  Charles  Lloyd  has  settled  at  Ambleside,  sixteen 
miles  from  Keswick.  I  shall  not  see  him.  If  I  cannot 
come,  I  will  write  you  a  very,  very  long  letter,  contain- 
ing the  most  important  of  the  many  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings which  I  want  to  communicate  to  you,  but  hope  to  do 
it  face  to  face. 

Give  my  love  to  Ward,  and  to  J.  Chester.  How  is 
poor  old  Mr.  Rich  and  his  wife  ? 

God  have  you  ever  in  his  keeping,  making  life  tranquil 


1801] 


TO  SIR  H.  DAVY 


345 


to  you.  Believe  me  to  be  what  I  have  been  ever,  and  am, 
attached  to  you  one  degree  more  at  least  than  to  any  other 
living  man. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


CXV.    TO   SIR   H.   DAVY. 

February  3,  1801. 

MY  DEAR  DAVY,  —  I  can  scarcely  reconcile  it  to  my 
conscience  to  make  you  pay  postage  for  another  letter. 
Oh,  what  a  fine  unveiling  of  modern  politics  it  would  be 
if  there  were  published  a  minute  detail  of  all  the  sums 
received  by  government  from  the  post  establishment,  and 
of  all  the  outlets  in  which  the  sums  so  received  flowed  out 
again  !  and,  on  the  other  hand,  all  the  domestic  affections 
which  had  been  stifled,  all  the  intellectual  progress  that 
would  have  been,  but  is  not,  on  account  of  the  heavy  tax, 
etc.,  etc.  The  letters  of  a  nation  ought  to  be  paid  for  as 
an  article  of  national  expense.  Well !  but  I  did  not  take 
up  this  paper  to  flourish  away  in  splenetic  politics.  A 
gentleman  resident  here,  his  name  Calvert,1  an  idle,  good- 
hearted,  and  ingenious  man,  has  a  great  desire  to  com- 
mence fellow-student  with  me  and  Wordsworth  in  chem- 


1  William,  the  elder  brother  of 
Raisley  Calvert,  who  left  Words- 
worth a  legacy  of  nine  hundred 
pounds.  In  that  mysterious  poem, 
"  Stanzas  written  in  my  Pocket  Copy 
of  Thomson's  Castle  of  Indolence,"  it 
would  seem  that  Wordsworth  begins 
with  a  blended  portrait  of  himself 
and  Coleridge,  and  ends  with  a  blend- 
ed portrait  of  Coleridge  and  William 
Calvert.  Mrs.  Joshua  Stanger  (Mary 
Calvert)  maintained  that  "  the  large 
gray  eyes  "  and  "  low-hung  lip  " 
were  certainly  descriptive  of  Cole- 
ridge and  could  not  apply  to  her 
father ;  but  she  admitted  that,  in 
other  parts  of  the  poem,  Words- 


worth may  have  had  her  father  in 
his  mind.  Of  this  we  may  be  sure, 
that  neither  Coleridge  nor  Words- 
worth had  "  inventions  rare,"  or  dis- 
played beetles  under  a  microscope. 
It  is  evident  that  Hartley  Coleridge, 
who  said  "  that  his  father's  charac- 
ter and  habits  are  here  [that  is,  in 
these  stanzas]  preserved  in  a  livelier 
way  than  in  anything  that  has  been 
written  about  him,"  regarded  the 
first  and  not  the  second  half  of  the 
poem  as  a  description  of  S.  T.  C. 
"  The  Last  of  the  Calverts,"  Corn- 
hill  Magazine,  May,  1890,  pp.  494- 
520. 


346  A  LAKE  POET  [FEB. 

istry.  He  is  an  intimate  friend  of  Wordsworth's,  and  he 
has  proposed  to  W..to  take  a  house  which  he  (Calvert) 
has  nearly  built,  called  Windy  Brow,  in  a  delicious  situa- 
tion, scarce  half  a  mile  from  Greta  Hall,  the  residence  of 
S.  T.  Coleridge,  Esq.,  and  so  for  him  (Calvert)  to  live 
with  them,  that  is,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister.  In  this 
case  he  means  to  build  a  little  laboratory,  etc.  Words- 
worth  has  not  quite  decided,  but  is  strongly  inclined  to 
adopt  the  scheme,  because  he  and  his  sister  have  before 
lived  with  Calvert  on  the  same  footing,  and  are  much 
attached  to  him ;  because  my  health  is  so  precarious  and 
so  much  injured  by  wet,  and  his  health,  too,  is  like  little 
potatoes,  no  great  things,  and  therefore  Grasmere  (thir- 
teen miles  from  Keswick)  is  too  great  a  distance  for  us 
to  enjoy  each  other's  society  without  inconvenience,  as 
much  as  it  would  be  profitable  for  us  both ;  and,  likewise, 
because  he  feels  it  more  necessary  for  him  to  have  some 
intellectual  pursuit  less  closely  connected  with  deep  pas- 
sion than  poetry,  and  is  of  course  desirous,  too,  not  to  be  so 
wholly  ignorant  of  knowledge  so  exceedingly  important. 
However,  whether  Wordsworth  come  or  no,  Calvert  and 
I  have  determined  to  begin  and  go  on.  Calvert  is  a  man 
of  sense  and  some  originality,  and  is,  besides,  what  is  well 
called  a  handy  man.  He  is  a  good  practical'  mechanic, 
etc.,  and  is  desirous  to  lay  out  any  sum  of  money  that  is 
necessary.  You  know  how  long,  how  ardently  I  have 
wished  to  initiate  myself  in  chemical  science,  both  for  its 
own  sake  and  in  no  small  degree  likewise,  my  beloved 
friend,  that  I  may  be  able  to  sympathise  with  all  that  you 
do  and  think.  Sympathise  blindly  with  it  all  I  do  even 
now,  God  knows !  from  the  very  middle  of  my  heart's 
heart,  but  I  would  fain  sympathise  with  you  in  the  light 
of  knowledge.  This  opportunity  is  exceedingly  precious 
to  me,  as  on  my  own  account  I  could  not  afford  the  least 
additional  expense,  having  been  already,  by  long  and  suc- 
cessive illnesses,  thrown  behindhand  so  much  that  for  the 


1801]  TO  SIR  H.  DAVY  347 

next  four  or  five  months  I  fear,  let  me  work  as  hard  as  I 
can,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  do  what  my  heart  within  me 
burns  to  do,  that  is,  to  concentre  my  free  mind  to  the  affin- 
ities of  the  feelings  with  words  and  ideas  under  the  title 
of  "  Concerning  Poetry,  and  the  nature  of  the  Pleasures 
derived  from  it."  I  have  faith  that  I  do  understand  the 
subject,  and  I  am  sure  that  if  I  write  what  I  ought  to 
do  on  it,  the  work  would  supersede  all  the  books  of  meta- 
physics, and  all  the  books  of  morals  too.  To  whom  shall 
a  young  man  utter  his  pride,  if  not  to  a  young  man 
whom  he  loves  ? 

I  beg  you,  therefore,  my  dear  Davy,  to  write  me  a  long 
letter  when  you  are  at  leisure,  informing  me  :  Firstly, 
What  books  it  will  be  well  for  me  and  Calvert  to  pur- 
chase. Secondly,  Directions  for  a  convenient  little  lab- 
oratory. Thirdly,  To  what  amount  apparatus  would  run 
in  expense,  and  whether  or  no  you  would  be  so  good  as 
to  superintend  its  making  at  Bristol.  Fourthly,  Give 
me  your  advice  how  to  begin.  And,  fifthly,  and  lastly, 
and  mostly,  do  send  a  drop  of  hope  to  my  parched  tongue, 
that  you  will,  if  you  can,  come  and  visit  me  hi  the  spring. 
Indeed,  indeed,  you  ought  to  see  this  country,  this  beau- 
tiful country,  and  then  the  joy  you  would  send  into  me ! 

The  shape  of  this  paper  will  convince  you  with  what 
eagerness  I  began  this  letter  ;  I  really  did  not  see  that  it 
was  not  a  sheet. 

I  have  been  thinking  vigorously  during  my  illness,  so 
that  I  cannot  say  that  my  long,  long  wakeful  nights 
have  been  all  lost  to  me.  The  subject  of  my  meditations 
has  been  the  relations  of  thoughts  to  things  ;  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Hume,  of  ideas  to  impressions.  I  may  be  truly 
described  in  the  words  of  Descartes:  I  have  been  "res 
cogitans,  id  est,  dubitans,  affirmans,  negans,  pauca  intelli- 
gens,  multa  ignorans,  volens,  nolens,  imaginans  etiam,  et 
sentiens."  I  please  myself  with  believing  that  you  will  re- 
ceive no  small  pleasure  from  the  result  of  these  broodings, 


348  A  LAKE  POET  [MARCH 

although  I  expect  in  you  (in  some  points)  a  determined 
opponent,  but  I  say  of  my  mind  in  this  respect :  "  Manet 
imperterritus  ille  hostem  magnanimum  opperiens,  et  mole 
sua  stat."  Every  poor  fellow  has  his  proud  hour  some- 
times, and  this  I  suppose  is  mine. 

I  am  better  in  every  respect  than  I  was,  but  am  still 
very  feeble.  The  weather  has  been  woefully  against  me 
for  the  last  fortnight,  having  rained  here  almost  inces- 
santly. I  take  quantities  of  bark,  but  the  effect  is  (to  ex- 
press myself  with  the  dignity  of  science)  a;  =  0000000,  and 
I  shall  not  gather  strength,  or  that  little  suffusion  of  bloom 
which  belongs  to  my  healthy  state,  till  I  can  walk  out. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  Davy  !  and  your  ever  affection- 
ate friend, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  An  electrical  machine,  and  a  number  of  little 
knickknacks  connected  with  it,  Mr.  Calvert  has.  —  Write. 

CXVI.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

Monday,  March  16,  1801. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  The  interval  since  my  last  letter 
has  been  filled  up  by  me  in  the  most  intense  study.  If  I 
do  not  greatly  delude  myself,  I  have  not  only  completely 
extricated  the  notions  of  time  and  space,  but  have  over- 
thrown the  doctrine  of  association,  as  taught  by  Hartley, 
and  with  it  all  the  irreligious  metaphysics  of  modern  infi- 
dels —  especially  the  doctrine  of  necessity.  This  I  have 
done  ;  but  I  trust  that  I  am  about  to  do  more  —  namely, 
that  I  shall  be  able  to  evolve  all  the  five  senses,  that  is, 
to  deduce  them  from  one  sense,  and  to  state  their  growth 
and  the  causes  of  their  difference,  and  in  this  evolvement 
to  solve  the  process  of  life  and  consciousness.  /  write 
this  to  you  only,  and  I  pray  you,  mention  what  I  have 
written  to  no  one.  At  Wordsworth's  advice,  or  rather 
fervent  entreaty,  I  have  intermitted  the  pursuit.  The 


1801]  TO  THOMAS  POOLE  349 

intensity  of  thought,  and  the  number  of  minute  experi- 
ments with  light  and  figure,  have  made  me  so  nervous 
and  feverish  that  I  cannot  sleep  as  long  as  I  ought  and 
have  been  used  to  do  ;  and  the  sleep  which  I  have  is  made 
up  of  ideas  so  connected,  and  so  little  different  from  the 
operations  of  reason,  that  it  does  not  afford  me  the  due 
refreshment.  I  shall  therefore  take  a  week's  respite,  and 
make  "  Christabel  "  ready  for  the  press ;  which  I  shall 
publish  by  itself,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  all  my  engagements 
with  Longman.  My  German  Book  I  have  suffered  to 
remain  suspended  chiefly  because  the  thoughts  which  had 
employed  my  sleepless  nights  during  my  illness  were  im- 
perious over  me  ;  and  though  poverty  was  staring  me  in 
the  face,  yet  I  dared  behold  my  image  miniatured  in  the 
pupil  of  her  hollow  eye,  so  steadily  did  I  look  her  in  the 
face ;  for  it  seemed  to  me  a  suicide  of  my  very  soul  to 
divert  my  attention  from  truths  so  important,  which  came 
to  me  almost  as  a  revelation.  Likewise,  I  cannot  express 
to  you,  dear  Friend  of  my  heart !  the  loathing  which  I 
once  or  twice  felt  when  I  attempted  to  write,  merely  for 
the  bookseller,  without  any  sense  of  the  moral  utility  of 
what  I  was  writing.  I  shall  therefore,  as  I  said,  immedi- 
ately publish  my  "  Christabel,"  with  two  essays  annexed  to 
it,  on  the  "Preternatural"  and  on  "Metre."- -This  done,  I 
shall  propose  to  Longman,  instead  of  rny  Travels  (which, 
though  nearly  done,  I  am  exceedingly  anxious  not  to  pub- 
lish, because  it  brings  me  forward  in  a  personal  way,  as 
a  man  who  relates  little  adventures  of  himself  to  amuse 
people,  and  thereby  exposes  me  to  sarcasm  and  the  malig- 
nity of  anonymous  critics,  and  is,  besides,  beneath  me,  .  .  .) 
I  shall  propose  to  Longman  to  accept  instead  of  these 
Travels  a  work  on  the  originality  and  merits  of  Locke, 
Hobbes,  and  Hume,  which  work  I  mean  as  a  pioneer  to 
my  greater  work,  and  as  exhibiting  a  proof  that  I  have 
not  formed  opinions  without  an  attentive  perusal  of  the 
works  of  my  predecessors,  from  Aristotle  to  Kant. 


350  A  LAKE  POET  [MARCH 

I  am  confident  that  I  can  prove  that  the  reputation  of 
these  three  men  has  been  wholly  unmerited,  and  I  have  in 
what  I  have  already  written  traced  the  whole  history  of 
the  causes  that  effected  this  reputation  entirely  to  Words- 
worth's satisfaction. 

You  have  seen,  I  hope,  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads."  In  the 
divine  poem  called  "Michael,"  by  an  infamous  blunder1 
of  the  printer,  near  twenty  lines  are  omitted  in  page  210, 
which  makes  it  nearly  unintelligible.  Wordsworth  means 
to  write  to  you  and  to  send  them  together  with  a  list  of 
the  numerous  errata.  The  character  of  the  "  Lyrical  Bal- 
lads "  is  very  great,  and  will  increase  daily.  They  have 
extolled  them  in  the  "  British  Critic."  Ask  Chester  (to 
whom  I  shall  write  in  a  week  or  so  concerning  his  German 
books)  for  Greenough's  address,  and  be  so  kind  as  to  send 
it  immediately.  Indeed,  I  hope  for  a  long  letter  from 
you,  your  opinion  of  the  L.  B.,  the  preface,  etc.  You 
know,  I  presume,  that  Davy  is  appointed  Director  of  the 
Laboratory,  and  Professor  at  the  Royal  Institution  ?  I 
received  a  very  affectionate  letter  from  him  on  the  occa- 
sion. Love  to  all.  We  are  all  well,  except,  perhaps,  my- 
self. Write !  God  love  you  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXVII.    TO   THE   SAME.  • 

Monday,  March  23,  1801. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  received  your  kind  letter  of  the 
14th.  I  was  agreeably  disappointed  in  finding  that  you 
had  been  interested  in  the  letter  respecting  Locke.  Those 
which  follow  are  abundantly  more  entertaining  and  impor- 
tant ;  but  I  have  no  one  to  transcribe  them.  Nay,  three 
letters  are  written  which  have  not  been  sent  to  Mr.  Wedg- 

1  On  page    210  of  vol.  ii.  of  the  all,  began  with  the  words, "  Though 

second  edition  of  the  Lyrical  Bal-  nought  was  left  undone."      Works 

lads  (1800),  there  is  a  blank  space,  of  Wordsworth,  p.  134, 11.  4-18. 
The  omitted  passage,  fifteen  lines  in 


1801] 


TO  THOMAS  POOLE 


351 


wood,1  because  I  have  no  one  to  transcribe  them  for  me, 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  be  without  copies.  Of  that  letter 
which  you  have  I  have  no  copy.  It  is  somewhat  unpleas- 
ant to  me  that  Mr.  Wedgwood  has  never  answered  my 
letter  requesting  his  opinion  of  the  utility  of  such  a  work, 
nor  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  the  long  letter  containing 
the  evidences  that  the  whole  of  Locke's  system,  as  far  as 
it  was  a  system,  and  with  the  exclusion  of  those  parts  only 
which  have  been  given  up  as  absurdities  by  his  warmest 
admirers,  preexisted  in  the  writings  of  Descartes,  in  a 
far  more  pure,  elegant,  and  delightful  form.  Be  not 
afraid  that  I  shall  join  the  party  of  the  Little-ists.  I  be- 
lieve that  I  shall  delight  you  by  the  detection  of  their 
artifices.  Now  Mr.  Locke  was  the  founder  of  this  sect, 
himself  a  perfect  Little-ist. 

My  opinion  is  thus  :  that  deep  thinking  is  attainable  only 
by  a  man  of  deep  feeling,  ami  that  all  truth  is  a  species  of 


1  During  the  preceding  month 
Coleridge  had  busied  himself  with 
instituting  a  comparison  between 
the  philosophical  systems  of  Locke 
and  Descartes.  Three  letters  of 
prodigious  length,  dated  February 
18,  24  (a  double  letter),  and  ad- 
dressed to  Josiah  Wedgwood,  em- 
bodied the  result  of  his  studies. 
They  would  serve,  he  thought,  as 
a  preliminary  excursus  to  a  larger 
work,  and  would  convince  the  Wedg- 
woods that,  his  wanderjahr  had  not 
been  altogether  misspent.  Mr.  Leslie 
Stephen,  to  whom  this  correspond- 
ence has  been  submitted,  is  good 
enough  to  allow  me  to  print  the  fol- 
lowing extract  from  a  letter  which 
he  wrote  at  my  request :  "  Coleridge 
writes  as  though  he  had  as  yet  read 
no  German  philosophy.  I  knew  that 
he  began  a  serious  study  of  Kant  at 
Keswick  ;  but  I  fancied  that  he  had 
brought  back  some  knowledge  of 


Kant  from  Germany.  This  letter 
seems  to  prove  the  contrary.  There 
is  certainly  none  of  the  transcenden- 
talism of  the  Schelling  kind.  One 
point  is,  that  he  still  sticks  to  Hart- 
ley and  to  the  Association  doctrine, 
which  he  afterwards  denounced  so 
frequently.  Thus  he  is  dissatisfied 
with  Locke,  but  has  not  broken  with 
the  philosophy  generally  supposed 
to  be  on  the  Locke  line.  In  short, 
he  seems  to  be  at  the  point  where 
a  study  of  Kant  would  be  ready  to 
launch  him  in  his  later  direction, 
but  is  not  at  all  conscious  of  the 
change.  When  he  wrote  the  Friend 
[180&-10]  he  had  become  a  Kantian. 
Therefore  we  must,  I  think,  date  his 
conversion  later  than  I  should  have 
supposed,  and  assume  that  it  was 
the  study  of  Kant  just  after  this 
letter  was  written  which  brought 
about  the  change.' ' 


352  A  LAKE  POET  [MARCH 

revelation.     The  more  I  understand  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton's 

(works,  the  more  boldly  I  dare  utter  to  my  own  mind,  and 
therefore  to  you,  that  I  believe  the  souls  of  five  hundred 
Sir  Isaac  Newtons  would  go  to  the  making  up  of  a  Shake- 
speare or  a  Milton.  But  if  it  please  the  Almighty  to  grant 
me  health,  hope,  and  a  steady  mind  (always  the  three  clauses 
of  my  hourly  prayers),  before  my  thirtieth  year  I  will 
thoroughly  understand  the  whole  of  Newton's  works.  At 
present  I  must  content  myself  with  endeavouring  to  make 
myself  entire  master  of  his  easier  work,  that  on  Optics. 
I  am  exceedingly  delighted  with  the  beauty  and  neatness 
of  his  experiments,  and  with  the  accuracy  of  his  immedi- 
ate deductions  from  them  ;  but  the  opinions  founded  on 
these  deductions,  and  indeed  his  whole  theory  is,  I  am 
persuaded,  so  exceedingly  superficial  as  without  impropri- 
ety to  be  deemed  false.  Newton  was  a  mere  materialist. 
Mind,  in  his  system,  is  always  passive,  —  a  lazy  Looker- 
on  on  an  external  world.  If  the  mind  be  not  passive,  if 
it  be  indeed  made  in  God's  Image,  and  that,  too,  in  the 
sublimest  sense,  the  Image  of  the  Creator,  there  is  ground 
for  suspicion  that  any  system  built  on  the  passiveness  of 
the  mind  must  be  false,  as  a  system.  I  need  not  observe, 
my  dear  friend,  how  unutterably  silly  and  contemptible 
these  opinions  would  be  if  written  to  any  but  to  another 
self.  I  assure  you,  solemnly  assure  you,  that  you  and 
Wordsworth  are  the  only  men  on  earth  to  whom  I  would 
have  uttered  a  word  on  this  subject. 

It  is  a  rule,  by  which  I  hope  to  direct  all  my  literary 
efforts,  to  let  my  opinions  and  my  proofs  go  together.  It 
is  insolent  to  differ  from  the  public  opinion  in  opinion,  if 
it  be  only  opinion.  It  is  sticking  up  little  i  l>y  itself,  i 
against  the  whole  alphabet.  But  one  word  with  meaning 
in  it  is  worth  the  whole  alphabet  together.  Such  is  a 
sound  argument,  an  incontrovertible  fact. 

Oh,  for  a  Lodge  in  a  land  where  human  life  was  an 
I  end  to  which  labour  was  only  a  means,  instead  of  being, 


1801]  TO   THOMAS  POOLE  353 

as  it  is  here,  a  mere  means  of  carrying  on  labour.  I  am 
oppressed  at  times  with  a  true  heart-gnawing  melancholy 
when  I  contemplate  the  state  of  my  poor  oppressed  coun- 
try. God  knows,  it  is  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  put  meat 
and  bread  on  my  own  table,  and  hourly  some  poor  starving 
wretch  comes  to  my  door  to  put  in  his  claim  for  part  of  it. 
It  fills  me  with  indignation  to  hear  the  croaking  account 
which  the  English  emigrants  send  home  of  America. 
"  The  society  so  bad,  the  manners  so  vulgar,  the  servants 
so  insolent ! "  Why,  then,  do  they  not  seek  out  one  another 
and  make  a  society  ?  It  is  arrant  ingratitude  to  talk  so  of 
a  land  in  which  there  is  no  poverty  but  as  a  consequence 
of  absolute  idleness  ;  and  to  talk  of  it,  too,  with  abuse  com- 
paratively with  England,  with  a  place  where  the  laborious 
poor  are  dying  witn~grass_m_t|]Meir ^bellies.  It  is  idle  to 
talk  of  the.  seasons,  as  if  that  country  must  not  needs  be 
miserably  governed  in  which  an  unfavourable  season  in- 
troduces a  famine.  No  !  no  !  dear  Poole,  it  is  our  pesti- 
lent commerce,  our  unnatural  crowding  together  of  men 
in  cities,  and  our  government  by  rich  men,  that  are  bring- 
ing about  the  manifestations  of  offended  Deity.  I  am 
assured  that  such  is  the  depravity  of  the  public  mind,  that 
no  literary  man  can  find  bread  in  England  except  by  mis- 
employing and  debasing  his  talents  ;  that  nothing  of  real 
excellence  would  be  either  felt  or  understood.  The  annu- 
ity which  I  hold,  perhaps  by  a  very  precarious  tenure,  will 
shortly  from  the  decreasing  value  of  money  become  less 
than  one  half  what  it  was  when  first  allowed  to  me.  If  I 
were  allowed  to  retain  it,  I  would  go  and  settle  near 
Priestley,  in  America.  I  shall,  no  doubt,  get  a  certain 
price  for  the  two  or  three  works  which  I  shall  next  pub- 
lish, but  I  foresee  they  will  not  sell.  The  booksellers, 
finding  this,  will  treat  me  as  an  unsuccessful  author,  that 
is,  they  will  employ  me  only  as  an  anonymous  translator 
at  a  guinea  a  sheet.  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  could  make 
£500  a  year  if  I  liked.  But  then  I  must  forego  all  desire 


354  A  LAKE   POET  [MAY 

of  truth  and  excellence.  I  say  I  would  go  to  America  if 
Wordsworth  would  go  with  ine,  and  we  could  persuade 
two  or  three  farmers  of  this  country,  who  are  exceedingly 
attached  to  us,  to  accompany  us.  I  would  go,  if  the  diffi- 
culty of  procuring  sustenance  in  this  country  remain  in 
the  state  and  degree  in  which  it  is  at  present ;  not  on  any 
romantic  scheme,  but  merely  because  society  has  become  a 
matter  of  great  indifference  to  me.  I  grow  daily  more 
and  more  attached  to  solitude ;  but  it  is  a  matter  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  be  removed  from  seeing  and  suffer- 
ing want. 

God  love  you,  my  dear  friend. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXVIII.    TO   ROBERT    SOUTHEY. 

GKETA  HALL,  KESWICK,  [May  6,  1801]. 

MY  DEAR  SOTJTHEY,  —  I  wrote  you  a  very,  very  gloomy 
letter;  and  I  have  taken  blame  to  myself  for  inflicting 
so  much  pain  on  you  without  any  adequate  motive.  Not 
that  I  exaggerated  anything,  as  far  as  the  immediate 
present  is  concerned;  but  had  I  been  in  better  health 
and  a  more  genial  state  of  sensation,  I  should  assuredly 
have  looked  out  upon  a  more  cheerful  future.  Since  I 
wrote  you,  I  have  had  another  and  more  severe  fit  of  ill- 
ness, which  has  left  me  weak,  very  weak,  but  with  so  calm 
a  mind  that  I  am  determined  to  believe  that  this  fit  was 
bonafide  the  last.  Whether  I  shall  be  able  to  pass  the 
next  winter  in  this  country  is  doubtf  id  ;  nor  is  it  possible 
I  should  know  till  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  At  all  events,  you 
will  (I  hope  and  trust,  and  if  need  were,  entreat)  spend 
as  much  of  the  summer  and  autumn  with  us  as  will  be  in 
your  power,  and  if  our  healths  should  permit  it,  I  am 
confident  there  will  be  no  other  solid  objection  to  our 
living  together  in  the  same  house,  divided.  We  have 
ample  room,  —  room  enough,  and  more  than  enough,  and 
I  am  willing  to  believe  that  the  blessed  dreams  we  dreamt 


1801]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  355 

some  six  years  ago  may  be  auguries  of  something  really 
noble  which  we  may  yet  perform  together. 

We  wait  impatiently,  anxiously,  for  a  letter  announcing 
your  arrival.  Indeed,  the  article  Falmouth  has  taken  pre- 
cedence of  the  Leading  Paragraph  with  me  for  the  last 
three  weeks.  Our  best  love  to  Edith.  Derwent  is  the 
boast  of  the  county ;  the  little  river  god  is  as  beautiful  as 
if  he  had  been  the  child  of  Venus  Anaduomene  previous 
to  her  emersion.  Dear  Hartley  !  we  are  at  times  alarmed 
by  the  state  of  his  health,  but  at  present  he  is  well.  If  I 
were  to  lose  him,  I  am  afraid  it  Would  exceedingly  deaden 
my  affection  for  any  other  children  I  may  have. 

A  little  child,  a  limber  elf 

Singing,  dancing  to  itself  ; 

A  faery  thing  with  red  round  cheeks 

That  always  finds,  and  never  seeks, 
5  Doth  make  a  vision  to  the  sight, 

Which  fills  a  father's  eyes  with  light ! 

And  pleasures  flow  in  so  thLck  and  fast 

Upon  his  heart  that  he  at  last 

Must  needs  express  his  love's  excess 
10  In  words  of  wrong  and  bitterness. 

Perhaps  it  is  pretty  to  force  together 

Thoughts  so  all  unlike  each  other ;  ^ 

To  mutter  and  mock  a  broken  charm  ; 

To  dally  with  wrong  that  does  no  harm. 
15  Perhaps  't  is  tender,  too,  and  pretty, 

At  each  wild  word  to  feel  within 

A  sweet  recoil  of  love  and  pity  ; 

And  what  if  in  a  world  of  sin 

(Oh  sorrow  and  shame  !  should  this  be  true) 
20  Such  giddiness  of  heart  and  brain 

Comes  seldom,  save  from  rage  and  pain, 

So  talks  as  it 's  most  used  to  do.1 

1  Nothing  is  known  of  these  lines  to  Part  II."  of  "  Christabel."  It  is 
beyond  the  fact  that  in  1816  Cole-  possible  that  they  were  intended  to 
ridge  printed  them  as  "  Conclusion  form  part  of  a  distinct  poem  in  the 


356  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

A  very  metaphysical  account  of  fathers  calling  their 
children  rogues,  rascals,  and  little  varlets,  etc. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear  Southey !  I  need  not  say, 
Write.  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  We  shall  have  peas,  beans,  turnips  (with  boiled 
leg  of  mutton),  cauliflowers,  French  beans,  etc.,  etc.,  end- 
less !  We  have  a  noble  garden. 

CXIX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

Wednesday,  July  22,  1801. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  Yesterday  evening  I  met  a  boy 
on  an  ass,  winding  down  as  picturisk  a  glen  as  eye  ever 
looked  at,  he  and  his  beast  no  mean  part  of  the  picture. 
I  had  taken  a  liking  to  the  little  blackguard  at  a  distance, 
and  I  could  have  downright  hugged  him  when  he  gave 
me  a  letter  in  your  handwriting.  Well,  God  be  praised  ! 
I  shall  surely  see  you  once  more,  somewhere  or  other.  If 
it  be  really  impracticable  for  you  to  come  to  me,  I  will 
doubtless  do  anything  rather  than  not  see  you,  though,  in 
simple  truth,  travelling  in  chaises,  or  coaches  even,  for  one 
day  is  sure  to  lay  me  up  for  a  week.  But  do,  do,  for 
heaven's  sake,  come  and  go  the  shortest  way,  however 
dreary  it  be ;  for  there  is  enough  to  be  seen  when  you 
get  to  our  house.  If  you  did  but  know  what  a  flutter  the 
old  moveable  at  my  left  breast  has  been  in  since  I  read 
your  letter.  I  have  not  had  such  a  fillip  for  many  months. 
My  dear  Edith ;  how  glad  you  were  to  see  old  Bristol 
again ! 

II  am  again  climbing  up  that  rock  of  convalescence 
from  which  I  have  been  so  often  washed  off  and  hurried 

metre  of  "  Christabel,"  or,  it  may  be,  little  child,  the  limber  elf,"  is  the 
they  are  the  sole  survival  of  an  at-  four-year-old  Hartley,  hardly  as  yet 
tempted  third  part  of  the  ballad  "  fitting  to  unutterable  thought, 
itself.  It  is  plain,  however,  that  the  The  breeze-like  motion,  and  the  self- 
picture  is  from  the  life,  that  "  the  born  carol." 


1801]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  357 

back  ;  but  I  have  been  so  unusually  well  these  last  two  days 
that  I  should  begin  to  look  the  damsel  Hope  full  in  the 
face,  instead  of  sheep's-eyeing  her,  were  it  not  that  the 
weather  has  been  so  unusually  hot,  and  that  is  my  joy. 
Yes,  sir !  we  will  go  to  Constantinople ;  but  as  it  rains 
there,  which  my  gout  loves  as  the  devil  does  holy  water, 
the  Grand  Turk  shall  shew  the  exceeding  attachment  he 
will  no  doubt  form  towards  us  by  appointing  us  his  vice- 
roys in  Egypt.  I  will  be  Supreme  Bey  of  that  shower- 
less district,  and  you  shall  be  my  supervisor.  But  for 
God's  sake  make  haste  and  come  to  me,  and  let  us  talk 
of  the  sands  of  Arabia  while  we  are  floating  in  our  lazy 
boat  on  Keswick  Lake,  with  our  eyes  on  massy  Skiddaw, 
so  green  and  high.  Perhaps  Davy  might  accompany  you. 
Davy  will  remain  unvitiated  ;  his  deepest  and  most  recol- 
lectable  delights  have  been  in  solitude,  and  the  next  to 
those  with  one  or  two  whom  he  loved.  He  is  placed,  no 
doubt,  in  a  perilous  desert  of  good  things  ;  but  he  is  con- 
nected with  the  present  race  of  men  by  a  very  awful  tie, 
that  of  being  able  to  confer  immediate  benefit  on  them  ; 
and  the  cold-blooded,  venom-toothed  snake  that  winds 
around  him  shall  be  only  his  coat  of  arms,  as  God  of 
Healing. 

I  exceedingly  long  to  see  "  Thalaba,"  and  perhaps  still 
more  to  read  "  Madoc  "  over  again.  I  never  heard  of  any 
third  edition  of  my  poems.  I  think  you  must  have  con- 
fused it  with  the  L.  B.  Longman  could  not  surely  be  so 
juncouthly  ill-mannered  as  not  to  write  to  me  to  know  if  I 
wished  to  make  any  corrections  or  additions.  If  I  am 
well  enough,  I  mean  to  alter,  with  a  devilish  sweep  of 
revolution,  my  Tragedy,  and  publish  it  in  a  little  volume 
by  itself,  with  a  new  name,  as  a  poem.  But  I  have  no 
heart  for  poetry.  Alas !  alas !  how  should  I  ?  who  have 
passed  nine  months  with  giddy  head,  sick  stomach,  and 
swoln  knees.  My  dear  Southey  I  it  is  said  that  long  sick- 
ness makes  us  all  grow  selfish,  by  the  necessity  which  it 


358  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

imposes  of  continuously  thinking  about  ourselves.  But 
long  and  sleepless  nights  are  a  fine  antidote. 

Oh,  how  I  have  dreamt  about  you !  Times  that  have 
been,  and  never  can  return,  have  been  with  me  on  my  bed 
of  pain,  and  how  I  yearned  towards  you  in  those  moments. 
I  myself  can  know  only  by  feeling  it  over  again.  But 
come  "  strengthen  the  weak  hands,  and  confirm  the  feeble 
knees.  Then  shall  the  lame  man  leap  as  a  hart,  and  sor- 
row and  sighing  shall  flee  away." 

I  am  here,  in  the  vicinity  of  Durham,  for  the  purpose  of 
reading  from  the  Dean  and  Chapter's  Library  an  ancient 
of  whom  you  may  have  heard,  Duns  Scotus  !  I  mean  to 
set  the  poor  old  Gemman  on  his  feet  again  ;  and  in  order 
to  wake  him  out  of  his  present  lethargy,  I  am  burning 
Locke,  Hume,  and  Hobbes  under  his  nose.  They  stink 
worse  than  feather  or  assafo3tida.  Poor  Joseph  !  [Cottle] 
he  has  scribbled  away  both  head  and  heart.  What  an  af- 
fecting essay  I  could  write  on  that  man's  character !  Had 
he  gone  in  his  quiet  way  on  a  little  pony,  looking  about 
him  with  a  sheep's-eye  cast  now  and  then  at  a  short  poem, 
I  do  verily  think  from  many  parts  of  the  "  Malvern  Hill," 
that  he  would  at  last  have  become  a  poet  better  than  many 
who  have  had  much  fame,  but  he  would  be  an  Epic,  and  so 

"  Victorious  o'er  the  Danes,  I  Alfred,  preach, 
Of  my  own  forces,  Chaplain-General !  " 

.  .  .  Write  immediately,  directing  Mr.  Coleridge,  Mr. 
George  Hutchinson's,1  Bishop's  Middleham,  Rushiford, 

1  George  Hutchinson,  the  fourth  probably  as  agent  on  the  estate  of 

son  of  John  Hutchinson  of  Penrith,  the   "  Champion."      His  first  resi- 

was  at  this  time  in  occupation  of  land  dence  after  migration  was  at  New 

at  Bishop's  Middleham,  the  original  Radnor,  where  he  married  Margaret 

home  of  the  family.     He  migrated  Roberts  of  Curnellan.  but  he  subse- 

into  Radnorshire  in  1815,  being  then  quently  removed  into  Herefordshire, 

about  the  age  of  thirty-seven ;  but  where   he   resided  in  many  places, 

between  that  date  and  his  leaving  latterly  at  Kingston.      He   died  at 

Bishop's  Middleham  he  had  resided  his  son's  house,  The  Vinery,  Here- 

for  some  time   in   Lincolnshire,  at  ford,  in  1866.     It  would  seem  from 

Scrivelsby,  where  he  was  engaged  a  letter  dated  July  25,  1801  (Letter 


1801]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  359 

Durham,  and  tell  me  when  you  set  off,  and  I  will  con- 
trive and  meet  you  at  Liverpool,  where,  if  you  are  jaded 
with  the  journey,  we  can  stay  a  day  or  two  at  Dr.  Cromp- 
ton's,  and  chat  a  bit  with  Roscoe  and  Curry,1  whom  you 
will  like  as  men  far,  far  better  than  as  writers.  O  Edith ; 
how  happy  Sara  will  be,  and  little  Hartley,  who  uses  the 
air  of  the  breezes  as  skipping-ropes,  and  fat  Derwent,  so 
beautiful,  and  so  proud  of  his  three  teeth,  that  there  's 
no  bearing  of  him  ! 

God  bless  you,  dear  Southey,  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  Kemember  me  kindly  to  Danvers  and  Mrs.  Dan- 
vers. 

[Care  of]  MRS.  DANVERS, 
Kingsdown  Parade,  Bristol. 

CXX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

DURHAM,  Saturday,  July  25, 1801. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  do  loathe  cities,  that 's  cer- 
tain. I  am  in  Durham,  at  an  inn,  —  and  that,  too,  I  do 
not  like,  and  have  dined  with  a  large  parcel  of  priests  all 
belonging  to  the  cathedral,  thoroughly  ignorant  and  hard- 
hearted. I  have  had  no  small  trouble  in  gaining  permis- 
sion to  have  a  few  books  sent  to  me  eight  miles  from  the 
place,  which  nobody  has  ever  read  in  the  memory  of  man. 

CXX.),  that  at  this  time  Sarah  as  "  Miss  Mary  Hutchinson  of  Wyke- 
Hutchinson  kept  house  for  her  bro-  ham,"  an  adjoining  parish, 
ther  George,  and  that  Mary  (Mrs.  [From  information  kindly  sup- 
Wordsworth)  and  Joanna  Hutcliin-  plied  to  me  by  Mr.  John  Hutchinson, 
son  lived  with  their  elder  brother  the  keeper  of  the  Library  of  the  Mid- 
Tom  at  Gallow  Hill,  in  the  parish  of  die  Temple.] 

Brompton,  near  Scarborough.     The  l  The  historian   William   Roscoe 

register  of  Brompton  Church  records  (afterwards   M.  P.   for   Liverpool), 

the  marriage  of  William  Wordsworth  and  the  physician  James  Currie,  the 

and  Mary  Hutchinson,  on  October  4,  editor    and    biographer   of    Burns, 

1802  ;  but  in  the  notices  of  marriages  were  at  this  time  settled  at  Liver- 

in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  of  Oc-  pool  and  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 

tober,  1802,  the  latter  is  described  Dr.  Peter  Crompton  of  Eaton  Hall. 


360  A  LAKE  POET  [Auo. 

Now  you  will  think  what  follows  a  lie,  and  it  is  not.  I 
asked  a  stupid  haughty  fool,  who  is  the  Librarian  of  the 
Dean  and  Chapter's  Library  in  this  city,  if  it  had  Leib- 
nitz. He  answered,  "  We  have  no  Museum  in  this  Li- 
brary for  natural  curiosities ;  but  there  is  a  Mathematical 
Instrument  setter  in  the  town,  who  shews  such  animalcula 
through  a  glass  of  great  magnifying  powers."  Heaven 
and  earth  !  he  understood  the  word  "  live  nits"  Well, 
I  return  early  to-morrow  to  Middleham ;  to  a  quiet  good 
family  that  love  me  dearly  —  a  young  farmer  and  his 
sister,  and  he  makes  very  droll  verses  in  the  northern  dia- 
lects and  in  the  metre  of  Burns,  and  is  a  great  humourist, 
and  the  woman  is  so  very  good  a  woman  that  I  have 
seldom  indeed  seen  the  like  of  her.  Death !  that  every- 
where there  should  be  one  or  two  good  and  excellent  peo- 
ple like  these,  and  that  they  should  not  have  the  power 
given  'em  ...  to  whirl  away  the  rest  to  Hell ! 

I  do  not  approve  the  Palermo  and  Constantinople 
scheme,  to  be  secretary  to  a  fellow  that  would  poison  you 
for  being  a  poet,  while  he  is  only  a  lame  verse-maker. 
But  verily,  dear  Southey !  it  will  not  suit  you  to  be  under 
any  man's  control,  or  biddances.  What  if  you  were  a 
consul  ?  'T  would  fix  you  to  one  place,  as  bad  as  if  you 
were  a  parson.  It  won't  do.  Now  mark  my  scheme  ! 
St.  Nevis  is  the  most  lovely  as  well  as  the  most  healthy 
island  in  the  W.  Indies.  Pinney's 1  estate  is  there,  and 
he  has  a  country-house  situated  in  a  most  heavenly  way, 
a  very  large  mansion.  Now  between  you  and  me  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  not  only  this  house  is  at  my  ser- 
vice, but  many  advantages  in  a  family  way  that  would 
go  one  half  to  lessen  the  expenses  of  living  there,  and 
perhaps  Pinney  would  appoint  us  sinecure  negro-drivers, 
at  a  hundred  a  year  each,  or  some  other  snug  and  repu- 
table office,  and,  perhaps,  too,  we  might  get  some  office  in 

1  The  Bristol  merchant  who  lent  the  manor-house  of  Racedown  to  Words- 
worth in  1795. 


1801]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  361 

which  there  is  quite  nothing  to  do  under  the  Governor. 
Now  I  and  my  family,  and  you  and  Edith,  and  Words- 
worth and  his  sister  might  all  go  there,  and  make  the 
Island  more  illustrious  than  Cos  or  Lesbos  !  A  heavenly 
climate,  a  heavenly  country,  and  a  good  house.  The  sea- 
shore so  near  us,  dells  and  rocks  and  streams.  Do  now 
think  of  this.  But  say  nothing  about  it  on  account  of 
old  Pinney.  Wordsworth  would  certainly  go  if  I  went. 
By  the  living  God,  it  is  my  opinion  that  we  should  not 
leave  three  such  men  behind  us.  N.  B.  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  Keswick  (and  Cumberland  and  West- 
moreland in  general)  full  as  dry  a  climate  as  Bristol. 
Our  rains  fall  more  certainly  in  certain  months,  but  we 
have  fewer  rainy  days,  taking  the  year  through.  As  to 
cold,  I  do  not  believe  the  difference  perceptible  by  the 
human  body.  But  I  feel  that  there  is  no  relief  for  me 
in  any  part  of  England.  Very  hot  weather  brings  me 
about  in  an  instant,  and  I  relapse  as  soon  as  it  coldens. 

You  say  nothing  of  your  voyage  homeward,  or  the  cir- 
cumstances that  preceded  it.  This,  however,  I  far  rather 
hear  from  your  mouth  than  your  letters.  Come !  and 
come  quickly.  My  love  to  Edith,  and  remember  me 
kindly  to  Mary  and  Martha  and  Eliza  and  Mrs.  Fricker. 
My  kind  respects  to  Charles  and  Mrs.  Danvers.  Is 
Davy  with  you  ?  If  he  is,  I  am  sure  he  speaks  affec- 
tionately of  me.  God  bless  you !  Write. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXXI.     TO   THE   SAME. 

SCARBOROUGH,  August  1,  1801. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  On  my  return  from  Durham 
(I  foolishly  walked  back),  I  was  taken  ill,  and  my  left 
knee  swelled  "  pregnant  with  agony,"  as  Mr.  Dodsley 
says  in  one  of  his  poems.  Dr.  Fenwick1  has  earnestly 

1  In  the  well-known  lines  "On  re-  made  to  this  "mild  physician,"  who 
visiting  the  Sea-shore,"  allusion  is  vainly  dissuaded  him  from  bathing 


362  A  LAKE  POET  [AUG. 

persuaded  me  to  try  horse-exercise  and  warm  sea-bathing, 
and  I  took  the  opportunity  of  riding  with  Sara  Hutchin- 
son  to  her  brother  Tom,  who  lives  near  the  place,  where 
I  can  ride  to  and  fro,  and  bathe  with  no  other  expense 
there  than  that  of  the  bath.  The  fit  comes  on  me  either  at 
nine  at  night,  or  two  in  the  morning.  In  the  former  case 
it  continues  nine  hours,  in  the  latter  five.  I  am  often  liter- 
ally sick  with  pain.  In  the  daytime,  however,  I  am  well, 
surprisingly  so  indeed,  considering  how  very  little  sleep  I 
am  able  to  snatch.  Your  letter  was  sent  after  me,  and 
arrived  here  this  morning,  and  but  that  my  letter  can 
reach  you  on  the  5th  of  this  month,  I  would  immediately 
set  off  again,  though  I  arrived  here  only  last  night.  But 
I  am  unwilling  not  to  try  the  baths  for  one  week.  If, 
therefore,  you  have  not  made  the  immediate  preparation 
you  may  stay  one  week  longer  at  Bristol.  But  if  you 
have,  you  must  look  at  the  lake,  and  play  with  my  babies 
three  or  four  days,  though  this  grieves  me.  I  do  not 
like  it.  I  want  to  be  with  you,  and  to  meet  you  even  to 
the  very  verge  of  the  Lake  Country.  I  would  far  rather 
that  you  would  stay  a  week  at  Grasmere  (which  is  on  the 
road,  fourteen  miles  from  Keswick),  with  Wordsworth, 
than  go  on  to  Keswick,  and  I  not  there.  Oh,  how  you 
will  love  Grasmere ! 

All  I  ever  wish  of  you  with  regard  to  wintering  at 
Keswick  is  to  stay  with  me  till  you  find  the  climate  in- 
jurious. When  I  read  that  cheerful  sentence,  "  We  will 
climb  Skiddaw  this  year  and  scale  Etna  the  next,"  with 
a  right  piteous  and  humorous  smile  did  I  ogle  my  poor 
knee,  which  at  this  present  moment  is  larger  than  the 
thickest  part  of  my  thigh. 

A  little  Quaker  girl  (the  daughter  of  the  great  Quaker 

in  the  open  sea.     Sea-bathing  was  to  a  late  period  of  his  life  and  long1 

at  all  times  an  irresistible  pleasure  after  he   had   become  a  confirmed 

to  Coleridge,  and  he  continued  the  invalid.     Poetical  Works,  p.  159. 
practice,  greatly  to  his  benefit,  down 


1801]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  363 

mathematician  Slee,  a  friend  of  anti-negro-trade  Clarkson, 
who  has  a  house  at  the  foot  of  Ulleswater,  which  Slee 
Wordsworth  dined  with,  a  pretty  parenthesis  !),  this  little 
girl,  four  years  old,  happened  after  a  very  hearty  meal  to 
eructate,  while  Wordsworth  was  there.  Her  mother 
looked  at  her,  and  the  little  creature  immediately  and  for- 
mally observed :  "  Yan  belks  when  yan  's  fu,  and  when 
yan  's  empty."  That  is,  "  One  belches  when  one  's  full 
and  when  one 's  empty."  Since  that  time  this  is  a  favour- 
ite piece  of  slang  at  Grasmere  and  Greta  Hall,  whenever 
we  talk  of  poor  Joey,  George  Dyer,  and  other  persever- 
ants  in  the  noble  trade  of  scribbleism. 

Wrangham,1  who  lives  near  here,  one  of  your  anthology 
friends,  has  married  again,  a  lady  of  a  neat  X700  a  year. 
His  living  by  the  Inclosure  [Act]  will  be  something  bet- 
ter than  <£600,  besides  what  little  fortune  he  had  with  his 
last  wife,  who  died  in  the  first  year.  His  present  wife's 
cousin  observed,  "  Mr.  W.  is  a  lucky  man :  his  present 
lady  is  very  weakly  and  delicate."  I  like  the  idea  of  a 
man's  speculating  in  sickly  wives.  It  would  be  no  bad 
character  for  a  farce. 

That  letter  £  was  a  kind-hearted,  honest,  well-spoken 
citizen.  The  three  strokes  which  did  for  him  were,  as  I 

1  Francis  Wrangham,  whom  Cole-  He  was  afterwards  appointed  to  a 
ridge  once  described  as  "  admirer  Canonry  of  York,  to  the  Archdea- 
of  me  and  a  pitier  of  my  political  conry  of  Cleveland,  and  finally  to  a 
principles"  (Letter  to Cottle  [April],  prebendal stall  at  Chester.  He  pub- 
1796),  was  his  senior  by  a  few  years,  lished  a  volume  of  Poems  (London, 
On  failing  to  obtain,  it  is  said  on  1795),  in  which  are  included  Cole- 
account  of  his  advanced  political  ridge's  Translation  of  the  "Hende- 
views,  a  fellowship  at  Trinity  Hall,  casyllabli  ad  Bruntonam  e  Granta 
he  started  taking-  pupils  at  Cobham  exituram,"  and  some  "  Verses  to  Miss 
in  Surrey  in  partnership  with  Basil  Brunton  with  the  preceding  Trans- 
Montagu.  The  scheme  was  of  short  lation."  He  died  in  1842.  Poetical 
duration,  for  Montagu  deserted  tui-  Works,  p.  30.  See,  too,  Editor's 
tion  for  the  bar,  and  Wrangham,  Note,  p.  569 ;  Reminiscences  of  Cam- 
early  in  life,  was  preferred  to  the  bridge,  by  Henry  Gunning,  London, 
benefices  of  Hemmanby  and  Folkton,  1855,  ii.  12  sej. 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Scarborough. 


364  A  LAKE  POET  [DEC. 

take  it,  (1),  the  Ictus  Cardiacus,  which  devitalized  his 
moral  heart ;  (2ondly)  the  stroke  of  the  apoplexy  in  his 
head ;  and  (thirdly)  a  stroke  of  the  palsy  in  his  right 
hand,  which  produces  a  terrible  shaking  and  impotence  in 
the  very  attempt  to  reach  his  breeches  pocket.  O  dear 
Southey  !  what  incalculable  blessings,  worthy  of  thanks- 
giving in  Heaven,  do  we  not  owe  to  our  being  and  having 
been  poor  !  No  man's  heart  can  wholly  stand  up  against 
property.  My  love  to  Edith. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXXII.    TO   THOMAS   POOLE. 

KESWICK,  September  19,  1801. 

By  a  letter  from  Davy  I  have  learnt,  Poole,  that  your 
mother  is  with  the  Blessed.  I  have  given  her  the  tears 
and  the  pang  which  belong  to  her  departure,  and  now  she 
will  remain  to  me  forever,  what  she  had  long  been  —  a 
dear  and  venerable  image,  often  gazed  at  by  me  in  imagi- 
nation, and  always  with  affection  and  filial  piety.  She 
was  the  only  being  whom  I  ever  felt  in  the  relation  of 
Mother ;  and  she  is  with  God !  We  are  all  with  God  ! 

What  shall  I  say  to  you  !  I  can  only  offer  a  prayer  of 
thanksgiving  for  you,  that  you  are  one  who  has  habitu- 
ally connected  the  act  of  thought  with  that  of  feeling ;  and 
that  your  natural  sorrow  is  so  mingled  up  with  a  sense 
of  the  omnipresence  of  the  Good  Agent,  that  I  cannot 
wish  it  to  be  other  than  what  I  know  it  is.  The  frail 
and  the  too  painful  will  gradually  pass  away  from  you, 
and  there  will  abide  in  your  spirit  a  great  and  sacred 
accession  to  those  solemn  Remembrances  and  faithful 
Hopes  in  which,  and  by  which,  the  Almighty  lays  deep 
the  foundations  of  our  continuous  Life,  and  distinguishes 
us  from  the  Brutes  that  perish.  As  all  things  pass  away, 
and  those  habits  are  broken  up  which  constituted  our  own 
and  particular  Self,  our  nature  by  a  moral  instinct  cher- 
ishes the  desire  of  an  unchangeable  Something,  and 


1801]  TO   ROBERT  SOUTHEY  365 

thereby  awakens  or  stirs  up  anew  the  passion  to  promote 
permanent  good,  and  facilitates  that  grand  business  of 
our  existence  —  still  further,  and  further  still,  to  general- 
ise our  affections,  till  Existence  itself  is  swallowed  up  in 
Being,  and  we  are  in  Christ  even  as  He  is  in  the  Father. 

It  is  among  the  advantages  of  these  events  that  they 
learn  us  to  associate  a  keen  and  deep  feeling  with  all  the 
old  good  phrases,  all  the  reverend  sayings  of  comfort  and 
sympathy,  that  belong,  as  it  were,  to  the  whole  human  race. 
I  felt  this,  dear  Poole !  as  I  was  about  to  write  my  old 

God  bless  you,  and  love  you  for  ever  and  ever  ! 
Your  affectionate  friend, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Would  it  not  be  well  if  you  were  to  change  the  scene 
awhile  !  Come  to  me,  Poole !  No  —  no  —  no.  You  have 
none  that  love  you  so  well  as  I.  I  write  with  tears  that 
prevent  my  seeing  what  I  am  writing. 

CXXIII.    TO    ROBERT    SOUTHEY. 

NETHEK  STOWEY,  BRIDGEWATER,  December  31,  1801. 

DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  On  Xmas  Day  I  breakfasted  with 
Davy,  with  the  intention  of  dining  with  you ;  but  I  re- 
turned very  unwell,  and  in  very  truth  in  so  utter  a  dejec- 
tion of  spirits  as  both  made  it  improper  for  me  to  go 
anywhither,  and  a  most  unfit  man  to  be  with  you.  I  left 
London  on  Saturday  morning,  4  o'clock,  and  for  three 
hours  was  in  such  a  storm  as  I  was  never  before  out  in, 
for  I  was  atop  of  the  coach  —  rain,  and  hail,  and  violent 
wind,  with  vivid  flashes  of  lightning,  that  seemed  almost 
to  alternate  with  the  flash-like  re-emersions  of  the  waning 
moon,  from  the  ever-shattered,  ever-closing  clouds.  How- 
ever, I  was  armed  cap-a-pie  in  a  complete  panoply,  namely, 
in  a  huge,  most  huge,  roquelaure,  which  had  cost  the  gov- 
ernment seven  guineas,  and  was  provided  for  the  emi- 
grants in  the  Quiberon  expedition,  one  of  whom,  falling 


366  A  LAKE  POET  [FEB. 

sick,  stayed  behind  and  parted  with  his  cloak  to  Mr. 
Howel,1  who  lent  it  me.  I  dipped  my  head  down,  shoved 
it  up  —  and  it  proved  a  complete  tent  to  me.  I  was  as 
dry  as  if  I  had  been  sitting  by  the  fire.  I  arrived  at  Bath 
at  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and  spent  the  next  day  with 
Warren,  who  has  gotten  a  very  sweet  woman  to  wife  and 
a  most  beautiful  house  and  situation  at  Whitcomb  on  the 
Hill  over  the  bridge.  On  Monday  afternoon  I  arrived  at 
Stowey.  I  am  a  good  deal  better  ;  but  my  bowels  are  by 
no  means  de-revolutionized.  So  much  for  me.  I  do  not 
know  what  I  am  to  say  to  you  of  your  dear  mother.  Life 
passes  away  from  us  in  all  modes  and  ways,  in  our  friends, 
in  ourselves.  We  all  "  die  daily."  Heaven  knows  that 
many  and  many  a  time  I  have  regarded  my  talents  and 
requirements  as  a  porter's  burthen,  imposing  on  me  the 
capital  duty  of  going  on  to  the  end  oTthe~Jburney,  when 
I  would  gladly  lie  down  by  the  side  of  the  road,  and  be- 
come the  country  for  a  mighty  nation  of  maggots.  For 
what  is  life,  gangrened,  as  it  is  with  me,  in  its  very  vitals, 
domestic  tranquillity  ?  These  things  being  so,  I  confess 
that  I  feel  for  you,  but  not  for  the  event,  as  for  the  event 
only  by  an  act  of  thought,  and  not  by  any  immediate 
shock  from  the  like  feeling  within  myself.  When  I  return 
to  town  I  can  scarcely  tell.  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my 
mind  whether  or  no  I  shall  move  Devonward.  My  rela- 
tions wish  to  see  me,  and  I  wish  to  avoid  the  uneasy  feeling 
I  shall  have,  if  I  remain  so  near  them  without  gratifying 
the  wish.  No  very  brotherly  mood  of  mind,  I  must  con- 
fess —  but  it  is,  nine  tenths  of  it  at  least,  a  work  of  their 
own  doing.  Poole  desires  to  be  remembered  to  you.  Re- 
member me  to  your  wife  and  Mrs.  Lovell. 
God  bless  you  and  , 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

1  "  I  took  a  first  floor  for  him  in  who  I  knew  would  nurse  Coleridge 

King  Street,  Covent  Garden,  at  my  as  kindly  as  if  he  were  her  son."    D. 

tailor's,  Howell's,   whose  wife  is  a  Stuart,  Gent.  Mag.,  May,  1838.     See, 

cheerful  housewife  of  middle  age,  too,  LetterTfrom  fne"Edkd  PGels,  p.  7. 


1802]  TO  HIS  WIFE  367 

CXXIV.    TO   HIS   WIFE. 

KING  STREET,  COVENT  GARDEN,  ['February  24,  1802.] 
MY  DEAR,  LOVE,  —  I  am  sure  it  will  make  you  happy 
to  hear  that  both  my  health  and  spirits  have  greatly  im- 
proved, and  I  have  small  doubts  that  a  residence  of  two 
years  in  a  mild  and  even  climate  will,  with  God's  bless- 
ing, give  me  a  new  lease  in  a  better  constitution.  You 
may  be  well  assured  that  I  shall  do  nothing  rashly,  but 
our  journey  thither  I  shall  defray  by  letters  to  Poole  and 
the  Wedgwoods,  or  more  probably  addressed  to  Mawman, 
the  bookseller,  who  will  honour  my  drafts  in  return.  Of 
course  I  shall  not  go  till  I  have  earned  all  the  money 
necessary  for  the  journey  that  I  can.  The  plan  will  be 
this,  unless  you  can  think  of  any  better.  Wordsworth 
will  marry  soon  after  my  return,  and  he,  Mary,  and  Dor- 
othy will  be  our  companions  and  neighbours.  Southey 
means,  if  it  is  in  his  power,  to  pass  into  Spain  that  way. 
About  July  we  shall  all  set  sail  from  Liverpool  to  Bor- 
deaux. Wordsworth  has  not  yet  settled  whether  he  shall 
be  married  from  Gallow  Hill  or  at  Grasmere.  But  they 
will  of  course  make  a  point  that  either  Sarah  shall  be 
with  Mary  or  Mary  with  Sarah  previous  to  so  long  a 
parting.  If  it  be  decided  that  Sarah  is  to  come  to  Gras- 
mere, I  shall  return  by  York,  which  will  be  but  a  few 
miles  out  of  the  way,  and  bring  her.  At  all  events,  I 
shall  stay  a  few  days  at  Derby,  —  for  whom,  think  you, 
should  I  meet  in  Davy's  lecture-room  but  Joseph  Strutt  ? 
He  behaved  most  affectionately  to  me,  and  pressed  me 
with  great  earnestness  to  pass  through  Darley  (which  is 
on  the  road  to  Derby)  and  stay  a  few  days  at  his  house 
among  my  old  friends.  I  assure  you  I  was  much  affected 
by  his  kind  and  affectionate  invitation  (though  I  felt  a 
little  awkward,  not  knowing  whom  I  might  venture  to 
ask  after).  I  could  not  bring  out  the  word  "  Mrs.  Evans," 
and  so  said,  "  Your  sister,  sir  ?  I  hope  she  is  well !  " 


368  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

On  Sunday  I  dined  at  Sir  William  Rush's,  and  on 
Monday  likewise,  and  went  with  them  to  Mrs.  Billing- 
ton's  Benefit.  'T  was  the  "  Beggar's  Opera  ; "  it  was 
perfection !  I  seem  to  have  acquired  a  new  sense  by 
hearing  her.  I  wished  you  to  have  been  there.  I  assure 
you  I  am  quite  a  man  of  fashion ;  so  many  titled  ac- 
quaintances and  handsome  carriages  stopping  at  my  door, 
and  fine  cards.  And  then  I  am  such  an  exquisite  judge  of 
music  and  painting,  and  pass  criticisms  on  furniture  and 
chandeliers,  and  pay  such  very  handsome  compliments  to 
all  women  of  fashion,  that  I  do  verily  believe  that  if  I  were 
to  stay  three  months  in  town  and  have  tolerable  health 
and  spirits,  I  should  be  a  Thing  in  vogue,  —  the  very  ton- 
ish  poet  and  Jemmy-Jessamy-fine-talker  in  town.  If  you 
were  only  to  see  the  tender  smiles  that  I  occasionally 
receive  from  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Darner  !  you  would 
scratch  her  eyes  out  for  jealousy  !  And  then  there  's  the 

sweet  (N.  B.  musky)  Lady  Charlotte !     Nay,  but  I 

won't  tell  you  her  name,  —  you  might  perhaps  take  it  into 
your  head  to  write  an  anonymous  letter  to  her,  and  dis- 
trust our  little  innocent  amour. 

Oh  that  I  were  at  Keswick  with  my  darlings !  My 
Hartley  and  my  fat  Derwent !  God  bless  you,  my  dear 
Sarah !  I  shall  return  in  love  and  cheerfulness,  and 
therefore  in  pleasurable  convalescence,  if  not  in  health. 
We  shall  try  to  get  poor  dear  little  Robert  into  Christ's 
Hospital ;  that  wretch  of  a  Quaker  will  do  nothing.  The 
skulking  rogue !  just  to  lay  hold  of  the  time  when  Mrs. 
Lovell  was  on  a  visit  to  Southey;  there  was  such  low 
cunning  in  the  thought. 

Remember  me  most  kindly  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilkinson, 
and  tell  Mr.  Jackson  that  I  have  not  shaken  a  hand  since 
I  quitted  him  with  more  esteem  and  glad  feeling  than  I 
shall  soon,  I  trust,  shake  his  with.  God  bless  you,  and 
your  affectionate  and  faithful  husband  (notwithstanding 
the  Honourable  Mrs.  D.  and  Lady  Charlotte  !), 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  369 

CXXV.  TO  W.  SOTHEBY. 
GRETA  HALL,  KESWICK,  Tuesday,  July  13,  1802. 
MY  DEAR  SIR, — I  had  written  you  a  letter  and  was  about 
to  have  walked  to  the  post  with  it  when  I  received  yours 
from  Luff.1  It  gave  me  such  lively  pleasure  that  I  threw 
my  letter  into  the  fire,  for  it  related  chiefly  to  the  "  Erste 
Schiffer  "  of  Gesner,  and  I  could  not  endure  that  my  first 
letter  to  you  should  begin  with  a  subject  so  little  interest- 
ing to  my  heart  or  understanding.  I  trust  that  you  are 
before  this  at  the  end  of  your  journey,  and  that  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Sotheby  have  so  completely  recovered  themselves  as 
to  have  almost  forgotten  all  the  fatigue  except  such  in- 
stances of  it  as  it  may  be  pleasant  to  them  to  remember. 
Why  need  I  say  how  often  I  have  thought  of  you  since 
your  departure,  and  with  what  hope  and  pleasurable  emo- 
tion ?  I  will  acknowledge  to  you  that  your  very,  very 
kind  letter  was  not  only  a  pleasure  to  me,  but  a  relief  to 
my  mind ;  for,  after  I  had  left  you  on  the  road  between 
Ambleside  and  Grasmere,  I  was  dejected  by  the  appre- 
hension that  I  had  been  unpardonably  loquacious,  and 
had  oppressed  you,  and  still  more  Mrs.  Sotheby,  with  my 
many  words  so  impetuously  uttered !  But  in  simple  truth, 
you  were  yourselves,  in  part,  the  innocent  causes  of  it. 
For  the  meeting  with  you,  the  manner  of  the  meeting, 
your  kind  attentions  to  me,  the  deep  and  healthful  delight 
which  every  impressive  and  beautiful  object  seemed  to 
pour  out  upon  you ;  kindred  opinions,  kindred  pursuits, 
kindred  feelings  in  persons  whose  habits,  and,  as  it  were, 
walk  of  life,  have  been  so  different  from  my  own,  —  these 
and  more  than  these,  which  I  would  but  cannot  say,  all 

1  Captain  Luff,  for  many  years  a  were  frequent  visitors  at  his  house, 

resident  at  Patterdale,  near  Ulleswa-  For  his   account   of    the   death   of 

ter,  was  held  in  esteem  for  the  energy  Charles  Gough,  on  Helvellyn,   and 

with  which   he  procured  the  enrol-  the  fidelity  of   the  famous  spaniel, 

ment  of  large  companies  of  volun-  see  Coleorton  Letters,  i.  97.     Letters 

teers.     Wordsworth  and   Coleridge  from  the  Lake  Poets,  p.  131. 


370  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

flowed  in  upon  me  with  unusually  strong  impulses  of 
pleasure,  —  and  pleasure  in  a  body  and  soul  such  as  I 
happen  to  possess  "  intoxicates  more  than  strong  wine." 
However,  I  promise  to  lie  a  much  more  subdued  creature 
when  you  next  meet  me,  for  I  had  but  just  recovered 
from  a  state  of  extreme  dejection,  brought  on  in  part  by 
ill  health,  partly  by  other  circumstances ;  and  solitude 
and  solitary  musings  do  of  themselves  impregnate  our 
thoughts,  perhaps,  with  more  life  and  sensation  than  will 
leave  the  balance  quite  even.  But  you,  my  dear  sir ! 
looked  at  a  brother  poet  with  a  brother's  eyes.  Oh  that 
you  were  now  in  my  study  and  saw,  what  is  now  before 
the  window  at  which  I  am  writing,  —  that  rich  mulberry- 
purple  which  a  floating  cloud  has  thrown  on  the  lake, 
and  that  quiet  boat  making  its  way  through  it  to  the 
shore  ! 

We  have  had  little  else  but  rain  and  squally  weather 
since  you  left  us  till  within  the  last  three  days.  But 
showery  weather  is  no  evil  to  us ;  and  even  that  most  op- 
pressive of  all  weathers,  hot,  small  drizzle,  exhibits  the 
mountains  the  best  of  any.  It  produced  such  new  com- 
binations of  ridges  in  the  Lodore  and  Borrowdale  moun- 
tains on  Saturday  morning  that  I  declare,  had  I  been 
blindfolded  and  so  brought  to  the  prospect,  I  should 
scarcely  have  known  them  again.  It  was  a  dream  such  as 
lovers  have,  —  a  wild  and  transfiguring,  yet  enchantingly 
lovely  dream,  of  an  object  lying  by  the  side  of  the  sleeper. 
Wordsworth,  who  has  walked  through  Switzerland,  de- 
clared that  he  never  saw  anything  superior,  perhaps  no- 
thing equal,  in  the  Alps. 

The  latter  part  of  your  letter  made  me  truly  happy. 
Uriel  himself  should  not  be  half  as  welcome  ;  and  indeed 
he,  I  must  admit,  was  never  any  great  favourite  of  mine. 
I  always  thought  him  a  bantling  of  zoneless  Italian  muses, 
which  Milton  heard  cry  at  the  door  of  his  imagination 
and  took  in  out  of  charity.  However,  come  as  you  may, 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  371 

cams  mihi  expectatusque  venies.1  De  coeteris  rebus  si 
quid  agendum  est,  et  quicquid  sit  agendum,  ut  quam  rec- 
tissime  agantur  omni  mea  cura,  opera,  diligentia,  gratia 
providebo? 

On  my  return  to  Keswick,  I  reperused  the  "  Erste 
Schift'er  "  with  great  attention,  and  the  result  was  an  in- 
creasing disinclination  to  the  business  of  translating  it ; 
though  my  fancy  was  not  a  little  flattered  by  the  idea  of 
seeing  my  rhymes  in  such  a  gay  livery.  —  As  poor  Gior- 
dano Bruno  3  says  in  his  strange,  yet  noble  poem,  "  De 
Immense  et  Innumerabili,"  — 

"  Quam  Garymedeo  cultu,  graphiceque  venustus  ! 
Narcissis  referam,  peramarunt  me  quoque  Nympha?." 

But  the  poem  was  too  silly.  The  first  conception  is 
noble,  so  very  good  that  I  am  spiteful  enough  to  hope 
that  I  shall  discover  it  not  to  have  been  original  in  Gesner, 
—  he  has  so  abominably  maltreated  it.  First,  the  story 
is  very  inartificially  constructed.  We  should  have  been 
let  into  the  existence  of  the  girl  by  her  mother,  through 
the  young  man,  and  after  his  appearance.  This,  how- 
ever, is  comparatively  a  trifle.  But  the  machinery  is 
so  superlatively  contemptible  and  commonplace ;  as  if  a 
young  man  could  not  dream  of  a  tale  which  had  deeply 
impressed  him  without  Cupid,  or  have  a  fair  wind  all  the 
way  to  an  island  without  yEolus.  ^Eolus  himself  is  a  god 
devoted  and  dedicated,  I  should  have  thought,  to  the  Muse 
of  Travestie.  His  speech  in  Gesner  is  not  deficient  in 
fancy,  but  it  is  a  girlish  fancy,  and  the  god  of  the  wind, 
exceedingly  disquieted  with  animal  love,  makes  a  very 
ridiculous  figure  in  my  imagination.  Besides,  it  was  ill 
taste  to  introduce  Cupid  and  JEolus  at  a  time  which  we 
positively  know  to  have  been  anterior  to  the  invention. 

1  Ciceroni's  Epist.  ad  Fam.  iv.  10.  his  long   philosophical   poem,   Jor- 

2  Ib.  i.  2.  dani  Bruni  Nolani  de  Innumerabili- 

3  The  lines  are  taken,  with  some  bus  Immenso  et  Infigurabili ;  seu  de 
alterations,  from  a  kind  of  Venvoy  Universe  et.  Mundis  libri  octo.     Fran' 
or  epilogue  which  Bruno  affixed  to  cofurti,  1591,  p.  654. 


372  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

and  establishment  of  the  Grecian  Mythology ;  and  the 
speech  of  ^Eolus  reminds  me  perpetually  of  little  engrav- 
ings from  the  cut  stones  of  the  ancients,  —  seals,  and 
whatever  else  they  call  them.,  Again,  the  girl's  yearnings 
and  conversations  with  him  are  something  between  the 
nursery  and  the  Veneris  volgivagce  templet,  et  libidinem 
spirat  et  subsusurrat,  dum  innocentice  loquillam,  et  vir- 
ginice  cogitationis  dulciter  offensantis  luctamina  simulat. 
It  is  not  the  thought  that  a  lonely  girl  could  have ;  but 
exactly  such  as  a  boarding-school  miss,  whose  imagination, 
to  say  no  worse,  had  been  somewhat  stirred  and  heated 
by  the  perusal  of  French  or  German  pastorals,  would  sup- 
pose her  to  say.  But  this  is,  indeed,  general  in  the  Ger- 
man and  French  poets.  It  is  easy  to  clothe  imaginary 
beings  with  our  own  thoughts  and  feelings ;  but  to  send 
ourselves  out  of  ourselves,  to  think  ourselves  into  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  beings  in  circumstances  wholly 
and  strangely  different  from  our  own,  hie  labor  hoc  opus  ; 
and  who  has  achieved  it?  Perhaps  only  Shakespeare. 
Metaphysics  is  a  word  that  you,  my  dear  sir,  are  no  great 
friend  to,  but  yet  you  will  agree  with  me  that  a  great 
poet  must  be  implicit^  if  not  explicate,  a  profound  meta- 
physician. He  may  not  have  it  in  logical  coherence  in 
his  brain  and  tongue,  but  he  must  have  the  ear  of  a  wild 
Arab  listening  in  the  silent  desert,  the  eye  of  a  North 
American  Indian  tracing  the  footsteps  of  an  enemy  upon 
the  leaves  that  strew  the  forest,  the  touch  of  a  blind  man 
feeling  the  face  of  a  darling  child.  And  do  not  think  me 
a  bigot  if  I  say  that  I  have  read  no  French  or  German 
writer  who  appears  to  me  to  have  a  heart  sufficiently  pure 
and  simple  to  be  capable  of  this  or  anything  like  it.  I 
could  say  a  great  deal  more  in  abuse  of  poor  Gesner's 
poems,  but  I  have  said  more  than  I  fear  will  be  creditable 
in  your  opinion  to  my  good  nature.  I  must,  though,  tell 
you  the  malicious  motto  which  I  have  written  in  the  first 
part  of  Klopstock's  "  Messias  :  "  — 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  373 

"  Tale  tuum  carmen  nobis,  divine  poeta ! 
Quale  sopor !  " 

Only  I  would  have  the  words  divine  poeta  translated 
"  verse-making  divine."  I  have  read  a  great  deal  of  Ger- 
man ;  but  I  do  dearly,  dearly,  dearly  love  my  own  coun- 
trymen of  old  times,  and  those  of  my  contemporaries  who 
write  in  their  spirit. 

William  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  left  me  yesterday 
on  their  way  to  Yorkshire.  They  walked  yesterday  to  the 
foot  of  Ulleswater,  from  thence  they  go  to  Penrith,  and 
take  the  coach.  I  accompanied  them  as  far  as  the  seventh 
milestone.  Among  the  last  things  which  he  said  to  me 
was,  "  Do  not  forget  to  remember  me  to  Mr.  Sotheby 
with  whatever  affectionate  terms  so  slight  an  intercourse 
may  permit ;  and  how  glad  we  shall  all  be  to  see  him 
again !  " 

I  was  much  pleased  with  your  description  of  Words- 
worth's character  as  it  appeared  to  you.  It  is  in  a  few 
words,  in  half  a  dozen  strokes,  like  one  of  Mortimer's 1 
figures,  a  fine  portrait.  The  word  "  homogeneous  "  gave 
me  great  pleasure,  as  most  accurately  and  happily  ex- 
pressing him.  I  must  set  you  right  with  regard  to  my 
perfect  coincidence  with  his  poetic  creed.  It  is  most  cer- 
tain that  the  heads  of  our  mutual  conversations,  etc.,  and 
the  passages,  were  indeed  partly  taken  from  note  of  mine  ; 
for  it  was  at  first  intended  that  the  preface  should  be 
written  by  me.  And  it  is  likewise  true  that  I  warmly 
accord  with  Wordsworth  in  his  abhorrence  of  these  poetic 
licenses,  as  they  are  called,  which  are  indeed  mere  tricks 
of  convenience  and  laziness.  Ex.  gr.  Drayton  has  these 
lines :  — 

"  Ouse  having  Ouleney  past,  as  she  were  waxed  mad 
From  her  first  stayder  course  immediately  doth  gad, 

1  John  Hamilton  Mortimer,  1741-  Agincourt,  the  Conversion  of  the 
1779.  He  painted  King  John  grant-  Britons,  and  other  historical  sub- 
ing  Magna  Charta,  the  Battle  of  jects. 


A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

And  in  meandered  gyres  doth  whirl  herself  about, 
That,  this  way,  here  and  there,  backward  in  and  out. 
And  like  a  wanton  girl  oft  doubling  in  her  gait 
In  labyrinthian  turns  and  twinings  intricate,"  etc.1 

The  first  poets,  observing  such  a  stream  as  this,  would 
say  with  truth  and  beauty,  "  it  strays  ;  "  and  now  every 
stream  shall  stray,  wherever  it  prattles  on  its  pebbled  way, 
instead  of  its  bed  or  channel.  And  I  have  taken  the  in- 
stance from  a  poet  from  whom  as  few  instances  of  this 
vile,  commonplace,  trashy  style  could  be  taken  as  from 
any  writer  [namely] ,  from  Bowies'  execrable  translation  2 
of  that  lovely  poem  of  Dean  Ogle's  (vol.  ii.  p.  27).  I'  am 
confident  that  Bowles  good-naturedly  translated  it  in  a 
hurry,  merely  to  give  him  an  excuse  for  printing  the 
admirable  original.  In  my  opinion,  every  phrase,  every 
metaphor,  every  personification,  should  have  its  justify- 
ing clause  in  some  passion,  either  of  the  poet's  mind  or  of 
the  characters  described  by  the  poet.  But  metre  itself 
implies  a  passion,  that  is,  a  state  of  excitement  both  in  the 
poet's  mind,  and  is  expected,  in  part,  of  the  reader ;  and, 
though  I  stated  this  to  Wordsworth,  and  he  has  in  some 
sort  stated  it  in  his  preface,  yet  he  has  not  done  justice  to 
it,  nor  has  he,  in  my  opinion,  sufficiently  answered  it.  In 
my  opinion,  poetry  justifies  as  poetry,  independent  of  any 
other  passion,  some  new  combinations  of  language  and 

1  Drayton's  Poly-Olbion,  Song  22,  out  their  own  pathos  and  melody. 
1-17.  Bowles  was  a  Winchester  boy,  and 

2  The   Latin  Iambics,    in    which  Dr.    Newton    Ogle,  then   Dean   of 
Dean     Ogle    celebrated    the    little  Winchester,  was  one  of  his  earliest 
Blyth,   which  ran   through   his  fa-  patrons.      It  was  from   the  Dean's 
ther's  park  at  Kirkley,  near  Ponte-  son,  his  old  schoolfellow,  Lieutenant 
land,    deserve    the    highest   praise  ;  Ogle,  that  he  claimed  to  have  gath- 
but  Bowles's  translation  is  far  from  ered  the  particulars  of  Coleridge's 
being  execrable.     He  may  not  have  discovery  at  Reading  and  discharge 
caught  the   peculiar   tones   of    the  from  the  army.   "  Poems  of  William 
Northumbrian    burn  which    awoke  Lisle  Bowles,"  Galignani,  1829,  p.  131; 
the  memories  of  the  scholarly  Dean,  "  The  Late  Mr.  Coleridge  a  Common 
but  his  irregular  lines  are  not  with-  Soldier,"  Times,  August  13,  1834. 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  375 

commands  the  omission  of  many  others  allowable  in  other 
compositions.  Now  Wordsworth,  me  saltern  judice,  has 
in  his  system  not  sufficiently  admitted  the  former,  and  in 
his  practice  has  too  frequently  sinned  against  the  latter. 
Indeed,  we  have  had  lately  some  little  controversy  on  the 
subject,  and  we  begin  to  suspect  that  there  is  somewhere 
or  other  a  radical  difference  in  our  opinions.  Dulce  est 
inter  amicos  rarissima  dissensione  condere  plurimas  con- 
sentiones,  saith  St.  Augustine,  who  said  more  good  things 
than  any  saint  or  sinner  that  I  ever  read  in  Latin. 

Bless  me  !  what  a  letter  !  And  I  have  yet  to  make  a 
request  to  you.  I  have  read  your  Georgics  at  a  friend's 
house  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  in  sending  for  the  book, 
I  find  that  it  belonged  to  a  book-club,  and  has  been  re- 
turned. If  you  have  a  copy  interleaved,  or  could  procure 
one  for  me  and  will  send  it  to  me  per  coach,  with  a  copy 
of  your  original  poems,  I  will  return  them  to  you  with 
many  thanks  in  the  'autumn,  and  will  endeavour  to  im- 
prove my  own  taste  by  writing  on  the  blank  leaves  my 
feelings  both  of  the  original  and  your  translation.  Your 
poems  I  want  for  another  purpose,  of  which  hereafter. 

Mrs.  Coleridge  and  my  children  are  well.  She  desires 
to  be  respectfully  remembered  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Sotheby. 
Tell  Miss  Sotheby  that  I  will  endeavour  to  send  her  soon 
the  completion  of  the  "  Dark  Ladie,"  as  she  was  good- 
natured  enough  to  be  pleased  with  the  first  part. 

Let  me  hear  from  you  soon,  my  dear  sir !  and  believe 
me  with  heartfelt  wishes  for  you  and  yours,  in  every-day 
phrase,  but,  indeed,  indeed,  not  with  every-day  feeling. 
Yours  most  sincerely, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

I  long  to  lead  Mrs.  Sotheby  to  a  scene  that  has  the 
grandeur  without  the  toil  or  danger  of  Scale  Force.  It 
is  called  the  White  Water  Dash.1 

1  One  of  a  series  of  falls  made  by  the  Dash  Beck,  which  divides  the 


376  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 


CXXVI.    TO  THE   SAME. 

KESWICK,  July  19, 1802. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  trouble  you  with  another  letter  to 
inform  you  that  I  have  finished  the  First  Book 1  of  the 
"  Erste  Schiffer."  It  consists  of  530  lines  ;  the  Second 
Book  will  be  a  hundred  lines  less.  I  can  transcribe  both 
legibly  in  three  single-sheet  letters ;  you  will  only  be  so 
good  as  to  inform  me  whither  and  whether  I  am  to  send 
them.  If  they  are  likely  to  be  of  any  use  to  Tomkins  he 
is  welcome  to  them  ;  if  not,  I  shall  send  them  to  the 
"  Morning  Post."  I  have  given  a  faithful  translation  in 
blank  verse.  To  have  decorated  Gesner  would  have  been, 
indeed,  "  to  spice  the  spices ;  "  to  have  lopped  and  pruned 
somewhat  would  have  only  produced  incongruity ;  to  have 
done  it  sufficiently  would  have  been  to  have  published  a 
poem  of  my  own,  not  Gesner's.  I  have  aimed  at  nothing 
more  than  purity  and  elegance  of  English,  a  keeping  and 
harmony  in  the  colour  of  the  style,  a  smoothness  without 

parishes  of  Caldbeck  and  Skiddaw  is  in  a  horse-shoe  basin  of  its  own, 

Forest,  and  flows  into  Bassenthwaite  wildly    peopled   with    small    ashes 

Lake.  standing  out  of  the  rocks.     Crossed 

The  following  minute  description  the  beck  close  by  the  white  pool, 
is  from  an  entry  in  a  note-book  dated  and  stood  on  the  other  side  in  a  corn- 
October  10,  1800 :  —  plete  spray-rain.  Here  it  assumes, 

"  The  Dash  itself  is  by  no  means  I  think,  a  still  finer  appearance.  You 

equal  to  the  Churnmilk  (sic)  at  East-  see  the  vast  rugged  net  and  angular 

dale    (sic)  or   the  Wytheburn  Fall,  points  and  upright  cones  of  the  black 

This  I  wrote  standing  under  and  rock ;   the   Fall  assumes  a  variety 

seeing  the  whole  Dash  ;  but  when  I  and   complexity,    parts   rushing    in 

went  over  and  descended  to  the  hot-  wheels,    other   parts   perpendicular, 

torn,  then  I  only  saw  the  real  Fall  some  in  white  horse-tails,  while  to- 

and  the  curve  of  the  steep  slope,  and  wards  the  right  edge  of  the  black 

retracted.      It  is,  indeed,  so  seen,  a  [rock]  two  or  three  leisurely  fillets 

fine  thing.     It  falls  parallel  with  a  have  escaped  out  of  the  turmoil." 

fine  black  rock  thirty  feet,  and  is  1  I  have  been  unable  to  discover 

more    shattered,    more    completely  any  trace  of  the  MS.  of  this  transla- 

atomized  and  white,  than  any  I  have  tion. 
ever  seen.  .  .  .  The  Fall  of  the  Dash 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  377 

monotony  in  the  versification.  If  I  have  succeeded,  as  I 
trust  I  have,  in  these  respects,  my  translation  will  be  just 
so  much  better  than  the  original  as  metre  is  better  than 
prose,  in  their  judgment,  at  least,  who  prefer  blank  verse 
to  prose.  I  was  probably  too  severe  on  the  morals  of  the 
poem,  uncharitable  perhaps.  But  I  am  a  downright  En- 
glishman, and  tolerate  downright  grossness  more  patiently 
than  this  coy  and  distant  dallying  with  the  appetites. 
"  Die  pflan/en  entstehen  aus  dem  saamen,  gewisse  thiere 
gehen  aus  dem  hervor  andre  so,  andre  anders,  ich  hab  es 
alles  bemerkt,  was  hab  ich  zu  thun."  Now  I  apprehend  it 
will  occur  to  nineteen  readers  out  of  twenty,  that  a  maiden 
so  very  curious,  so  exceedingly  inflamed  and  harassed  by 
a  difficulty,  and  so  subtle  in  the  discovery  of  even  com- 
paratively distant  analogies,  would  necessarily  have  seen 
the  difference  of  sex  in  her  flocks  and  herds,  and  the  mari- 
tal as  well  as  maternal  character  could  not  have  escaped 
her.  Now  I  avow  that  the  grossness  and  vulgar  plain 
sense  of  Theocritus'  shepherd  lads,  bad  as  it  is,  is  in  my 
opinion  less  objectionable  than  Gesner's  refinement,  which 
necessarily  leads  the  imagination  to  ideas  without  express- 
ing them.  Shaped  and  clothed,  the  mind  of  a  pure  being 
would  turn  away  from  them  from  natural  delicacy  of  taste, 
but  in  that  shadowy  half-being,  that  state  of  nascent  ex- 
istence in  the  twilight  of  imagination  and  just  on  the 
vestibule  of  consciousness,  they  are  far  more  incendiary, 
stir  up  a  more  lasting  commotion,  and  leave  a  deeper 
stain.  The  suppression  and  obscurity  arrays  a  simple 
truth  in  a  veil  of  something  like  guilt,  that  is  altogether 
meretricious,  as  opposed  to  the  matronly  majesty  of  our 
Scripture,  for  instance ;  and  the  conceptions  as  they 
recede  from  distinctness  of  idea  approximate  to  the  nature 
of  feeling,  and  gain  thereby  a  closer  and  more  imme- 
diate affinity  with  the  appetites.  But,  independently  of 
this,  the  whole  passage,  consisting  of  precisely  one  fourth 
of  the  whole  poem,  has  not  the  least  influence  on  the 


378  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

action  of  the  poem,  and  it  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say  that 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  main  subject,  except  indeed 
it  be  pleaded  that  Love  is  induced  by  compassion  for  this 
maiden  to  make  a  young  man  dream  of  her,  which  young 
man  had  been,  without  any  influence  of  the  said  Cupid, 
deeply  interested  in  the  story,  and,  therefore,  did  not  need 
the  interference  of  Cupid  at  all ;  any  more  than  he  did  the 
assistance  of  ^Eolus  for  a  fair  wind  all  the  way  to  an  island 
that  was  within  sight  of  shore. 

I  translated  the  poem,  partly  because  I  could  not  en- 
dure to  appear  irresolute  and  capricious  to  you  in  the  first 
undertaking  which  I  had  connected  in  any  way  with  your 
person  ;  in  an  undertaking  which  I  connect  with  our  jour- 
ney from  Keswick  to  Grasmere,  the  carriage  in  which 
were  your  son,  your  daughter,  and  your  wife  (all  of  whom 
may  God  Almighty  bless !  a  prayer  not  the  less  fervent, 
my  dear  sir !  for  being  a  little  out  of  place  here)  ;  and,- 
partly,  too,  because  I  wished  to  force  myself  out  of  meta- 
physical trains  of  thought,  which,  when  I  wished  to  write 
a  poem,  beat  up  game  of  far  other  kind.  Instead  of  a 
covey  of  poetic  partridges  with  whirring  wings  of  music, 
or  wild  ducks  shaping  their  rapid  flight  in  forms  always 
regular  (a  still  better  image  of  verse),  up  came  a  meta- 
physical bustard,  urging  its  slow,  heavy,  laborious,  earth- 
skimming  flight  over  dreary  and  level  wastes.  To  have 
done  with  poetical  prose  (which  is  a  very  vile  Olio),  sick- 
ness  and  some  other  and  worse  afflictions  first  forced  me 
into  downright  metaphysics.  For  I  believe  that  by  nature 
I  have  more  of  the  poet  in  me.  In  a  poem  written  during 
that  dejection,  to  Wordsworth,  and  the  greater  part  of  a 
private  nature,  I  thus  expressed  the  thought  in  language 
more  forcible  than  harmonious  : 1  — 

1  The    "  Ode    to    Dejection,"    of  the  Morning  Post  of  October  4, 1802. 

which  this  is  the  earliest  version,  was  It  was   reprinted   in   the    Sibylline 

composed  on  Sunday  evening,  April  Leaves,  1817.     A  comparison  of  the 

4,  and  published  six  months  later,  in  Ode,  as  sent  to  Sotheby,  with  the 


1802] 


TO  W.  SOTHEBY 


379 


Yes,  dearest  poet,  yes  ! 

There  was  a  time  when  tho'  my  path  was  rough, 
The  joy  within  me  dallied  with  distress, 
And  all  misfortunes  were  but  as  the  stuff 
Whence  fancy  made  me  dreams  of  happiness  : 


first  printed  version  (Poetical  Works, 
Appendix  G,  pp.  522-524)  shows  that 
it  underwent  many  changes  before 
it  was  permitted  to  see  the  "  light 
of  common  day  "  in  the  columns  of 
the  Morning  Post.  The  Ode  was 
begun  some  three  weeks  after  Cole- 
ridge returned  to  Keswick,  after  an 
absence  of  four  months.  He  had 
visited  Southey  in  London,  he  had 
been  a  fellow  guest  with  Tom 
Wedgwood  for  a  month  at  Stowey, 
he  had  returned  to  London  and  at- 
tended Davy's  lectures  at  the  Royal 
Institution,  and  on  his  way  home  he 
had  stayed  for  a  fortnight  with  his 
friend  T.  Hutchinson,  Wordsworth's 
brother-in-law,  at  Gallow  Hill. 

He  left  Gallow  Hill  "  on  March  13 
in  a  violent  storm  of  snow,  wind,  and 
rain,"  and  must  have  reached  Kes- 
wick on  Sunday  the  14th  or  Monday 
the  15th  of  March.  On  the  follow- 
ing Friday  he  walked  over  to  Dove 
Cottage,  and  once  more  found  him- 
self in  the  presence  of  his  friends, 
and,  once  again,  their  presence  and 
companionship  drove  him  into  song. 
The  Ode  is  at  once  a  confession  and 
a  contrast,  a  confession  that  he  had 
fled  from  the  conflict  with  his  soul 
into  the  fastnesses  of  metaphysics, 
and  a  contrast  of  his  own  hopeless- 
ness with  the  glad  assurance  of  in- 
ward peace  and  outward  happiness 
which  attended  the  pure  and  manly 
spirit  of  his  friend. 

But  verse  was  what  he  had 'been  wedded 
to, 


And  his  own   mind   did   like  a  tempest 

strong 
Come  thus  to  him,  and  drove  the  weary 

wight  along. 

A  MS.  note-book  of  1801-2, 
which  has  helped  to  date  his  move- 
ments at  the  time,  contains,  among 
other  hints  and  jottings,  the  follow- 
ing almost  illegible  fragment :  "  The 
larches  in  spring  push  out  their  sepa- 
rate bundles  of  ...  into  green 
brushes  or  pencils  which  .  .  .  small 
tassels  ;  "  —  and  with  the  note  may 
be  compared  the  following  lines  in- 
cluded in  the  version  contained  in 
the  letter,  but  afterwards  omitted :  — 

In  this  heartless  mood, 
To    other   thoughts   by   yonder   throstle 

woo'd, 

That  pipes  within  the  larch-tree,  not  unseen 
The  larch  thai  pushes  out  in  tassels  green 
Its  bundled  leasts  —  woo  V  to  mild  delights, 
By  all  the  tender  sounds  and  gentle  sights 
Of  this  sweet  primrose-month,  and  vainly 

woo'd  ! 
O  dearest  Poet,  in  this  heartless  mood  — 

Another  jotting  in  the  same  note- 
book :  "  A  Poem  on  the  endeavour 
to  emancipate  the  mind  from  day- 
dreams, with  the  different  attempts 
and  the  vain  ones,"  perhaps  found 
expression  in  the  lines  which  follow 
"  My  shaping  spirit  of  Imagination," 
which  appeared  for  the.  first  time  in 
print  in  Sibylline  Leaves,  1817,  but 
which,  as  Mr.  Dykes  Campbell  has 
rightly  divined,  belonged  to  the  ori- 
ginal draft  of  the  Ode.  Poetical 
Works,  p.  159.  Appendix  G,  pp.  522- 
524.  Editor's  Note,  pp.  626-628. 


380  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

For  Hope  grew  round  me,  like  the  climbing  vine, 
And  fruit,  and  foliage,  not  my  own,  seemed  mine. 
But  now  afflictions  bow  me  down  to  earth  : 
Nor  care  I,  that  they  rob  me  of  my  mirth, 
But  oh !  each  visitation 
Suspends  what  nature  gave  me  at  my  birth, 
My  shaping  spirit  of  Imagination. 

For  not  to  think  of  what  I  needs  must  feel, 
But  to  be  still  and  patient,  all  I  can  ; 
And  haply  by  abstruse  research  to  steal 
From  my  own  nature  all  the  natural  man  — 
This  was  my  sole  resource,  my  wisest  plan : 
And  that  which  suits  a  part  infects  the  whole, 
And  now  is  almost  grown  the  temper  of  my  soul. 

Thank  heaven !  my  better  mind  has  returned  to  me, 
and  I  trust  I  shall  go  on  rejoicing.  As  I  have  nothing 
better  to  fill  the  blank  space  of  this  sheet  with,  I  will 
transcribe  the  introduction  of  that  poem  to  you,  that  being 
of  a  sufficiently  general  nature  to  be  interesting  to  you. 
The  first  lines  allude  to  a  stanza  in  the  Ballad  of  Sir  Pat- 
rick Spence :  "  Late,  late  yestreen  I  saw  the  new  moon 
with  the  old  one  in  her  arms,  and  I  fear,  I  fear,  my  master 
dear,  there  will  be  a  deadly  storm." 

Letter,  written  Sunday  evening,  April  4. 

Well !  if  the  Bard  was  weatherwise,  who  made 

The  dear  old  Ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spence, 

This  night,  so  tranquil  now,  will  not  go  hence 

Unrous'd  by  winds,  that  ply  a  busier  trade 

Than  that,  which  moulds  yon  clouds  in  lazy  flakes, 

Or  the  dull  sobbing  draft,  that  drones  and  rakes 

Upon  the  strings  of  this  Eolian  lute, 

Which  better  far  were  mute. 

For  lo  !  the  New  Moon,  winter-bright ! 

And  overspread  with  phantom  light 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  381 

(With  swimming  phantom  light  o'erspread, 
But  rimmed  and  circled  with  a  silver  thread) 
I  see  the  Old  Moon  in  her  lap  foretelling 
The  coming  on  of  rain  and  squally  blast ! 
And  O  !  that  even  now  the  gust  were  swelling, 
And  the  slant  night-shower  driving  loud  and  fast. 

A  grief  without  a  pang,  void,  dark,  and  drear ! 

A  stifling,  drowsy,  unimpassioned  grief, 

That  finds  no  natural  outlet,  no  relief, 

In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear  ! 

This,  William,  well  thou  know'st, 

Is  that  sore  evil  which  I  dread  the  most, 

And  oftnest  suffer.     In  this  heartless  mood, 

To  other  thoughts  by  yonder  throstle  woo'd, 

That  pipes  within  the  larch-tree,  not  unseen, 

The  larch,  that  pushes  out  in  tassels  green 

Its  bundled  leafits,  woo'd  to  mild  delights, 

By  all  the  tender  sounds  and  gentle  sights 

Of  this  sweet  primrose-month,  and  vainly  woo'd ! 

0  dearest  Poet,  in  this  heartless  mood, 
All  this  long  eve,  so  balmy  and  serene, 
Have  I  been  gazing  on  the  Western  sky, 
And  its  peculiar  tint  of  yellow-green  : 

And  still  I  gaze  —  and  with  how  blank  an  eye  ! 
And  those  thin  clouds  above,  in  flakes  and  bars, 
That  give  away  their  motion  to  the  stars  ; 
Those  stars,  that  glide  behind  them,  or  between, 
Now  sparkling,  now  bedimmed,  but  always  seen ; 
Yon  crescent  moon,  as  fix'd  as  if  it  grew 
In  its  own  cloudless,  starless  lake  of  blue, 
A  boat  becalm'd  !  thy  own  sweet  sky-canoe  !  * 

1  see  them  all,  so  exquisitely  fair  ! 

I  see,  not  feel !  how  beautiful  they  are  ! 

1  "  A  lovely  skye-canoe."  Morn-           "  My  little  vagrant  Form  of  light, 

ing  Post.     The  reference  is  to  the               My  gay  and  beautiful  Canoe." 

Prologue  to  "  Peter  Bell."  Com-  Wordsworth's   Poetical    Works,    p 

pare  stanza  22,  100. 


382  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

My  genial  spirits  fail ; 

And  what  can  these  avail, 
To  lift  the  smoth'ring  weight  from  off  my  breast  ? 

It  were  a  vain  endeavour, 

Though  I  should  gaze  for  ever 
On  that  green  light  that  lingers  in  the  west ; 
I  may  not  hope  from  outward  forms  to  win 
The  passion  and  the  life,  whose  fountains  are  within. 

O  Wordsworth  !  we  receive  but  what  we  give, 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  Nature  live  ; 
Ours  is  her  wedding  garment,  ours  her  shroud ! 
And  would  we  aught  behold,  of  higher  worth, 
Than  that  inanimate,  cold  world,  allowed 
To  the  poor,  loveless,  ever-anxious  crowd, 
Ah  !  from  the  soul  itself  must  issue  forth, 
A  light,  a  glory,  a  fair  luminous  cloud 

Enveloping  the  earth  ! 
And  from  the  soul  itself  must  there  be  sent 
A  sweet  and  powerful  voice,  of  its  own  birth, 
Of  all  sweet  sounds  the  life  and  element ! 
O  pure  of  heart !  thou  need'st  not  ask  of  me 
What  this  strong  music  in  the  soul  may  be  ? 
"What  and  wherein  it  doth  exist, 
This  light,  this  glory,  this  fair  luminous  mist, 
This  beautiful  and  beauty-making  Power. 
Joy,  blameless  poet !     Joy  that  ne'er  was  given 
Save  to  the  pure,  and  in  their  purest  hour, 
Joy,  William,  is  the  spirit  and  the  power 
That  wedding  Nature  to  us  gives  in  dower, 

A  new  Earth  and  new  Heaven, 
Undream'd  of  by  the  sensual  and  proud  — 

We,  we  ourselves  rejoice  ! 

And  thence  comes  all  that  charms  or  ear  or  sight, 
All  melodies  an  echo  of  that  voice  ! 
All  colours  a  suffusion  from  that  light ! 
Calm,  steadfast  spirit,  guided  from  above, 
O  Wordsworth  !  friend  of  my  devoutest  choice, 
Great  son  of  genius  !  full  of  light  and  love, 


1802]  TO   W.  SOTHEBY  383 

Thus,  thus,  dost  thou  rejoice. 
To  thee  do  all  things  live,  from  pole  to  pole, 
Their  life  the  eddying  of  thy  living  Soul ! 
Brother  and  friend  of  my  devoutest  choice, 
Thus  mayst  thou  ever,  ever  more  rejoice  ! 

I  have  selected  from  the  poem,  which  was  a  very  long 
one  and  truly  written  only  for  the  solace  of  sweet  song, 
all  that  could  be  interesting  or  even  pleasing  to  you,  ex- 
cept, indeed,  perhaps  I  may  annex  as  a  fragment  a  few 
lines  on  the  "  .ZEolian  Lute,"  it  having  been  introduced  in 
its  dronings  in  the  first  stanza.  I  have  used  Yule  for 
Christmas. 

Nay,  wherefore  did  I  let  it  haunt  my  mind, 

This  dark,  distressful  dream  ? 

I  turn  from  it  and  listen  to  the  wind 

Which  long  has  rav'd  unnotic'd !     What  a  scream 

Of  agony  by  torture  lengthened  out, 

That  lute  sent  out !     O  thou  wild  storm  without, 

Bare  crag,  or  Mountain  Tairn,  or  blasted  tree, 

Or  pine-grove  whither  woodman  never  clomb, 

Or  lonely  house,  long  held  the  witches'  home, 

Methinks  were  fitter  instruments  for  thee 

Mad  Lutanist !  that,  in  this  month  of  showers, 

Of  dark-brown  gardens,  and  of  peeping  flowers, 

Mak'st  devil's  Yule,  with  worse  than  wintry  song, 

The  blossoms,  buds,  and  timorous  leaves  among ! 

Thou  Actor,  perfect  in  all  tragic  sounds  ! 

Thou  mighty  Poet,  even  to  frenzy  bold ! 

What  tell'st  thou  now  about  ? 
'T  is  of  the  rushing  of  an  host  in  rout, 
With  many  groans  from  men,  with  smarting  wounds  — 
At  once  they  groan  with  pain,  and  shudder  with  the  cold ! 
But  hush  !  there  is  a  pause  of  deeper  silence  ! 
A^ain !  but  all  that  noise,  as  of  a  rushing  crowd, 
With  groans,  and  tremulous  shudderings  —  all  is  over  ! 
And  it  has  other  sounds,  less  fearful  and  less  loud  — 


384  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

A  tale  of  less  affright, 

And  tempered  with  delight, 
As  thou  thyself  had'st  fram'd  the  tender  lay  — 

'T  is  of  a  little  child, 

Upon  a  heath  wild, 

Not  far  from  home,  but  she  has  lost  her  way  — 
And  now  moans  low  in  utter  grief  and  fear  ; 
And  now  screams  loud,  and  hopes  to  make  her  mother  hear. 

My  dear  sir !  ought  I  to  make  an  apology  for  troubling 
you  with  such  a  long,  verse-cramm'd  letter  ?  Oh,  that  in- 
stead of  it,  I  could  but  send  to  you  the  image  now  before 
my  eyes,  over  Bassenthwaite.  The  sun  is  setting  in  a 
glorious,  rich,  brassy  light,  on  the  top  of  Skiddaw,  and 
one  third  adown  it  is  a  huge,  enormous  mountain  of  cloud, 
with  the  outlines  of  a  mountain.  This  is  of  a  starchy 
grey,  but  floating  past  along  it,  and  upon  it,  are  various 
patches  of  sack-like  clouds,  bags  and  woolsacks,  of  a  shade 
lighter  than  the  brassy  light.  Of  the  clouds  that  hide  the 
setting  sun,  —  a  fine  yellow-red,  somewhat  more  than 
sandy  light,  and  these,  the  farthest  from  the  sun,  are  suf- 
fused with  the  darkness  of  a  stormy  colour.  Marvellous 
creatures  !  how  they  pass  along !  Kemember  me  with 
most  respectful  kindness  to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Sotlieby,  and 
the  Captains  Sotheby.  Truly  yours, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXXVII.  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY.1 

GRETA  HALL,  KESWICK,  July  29,  1802. 

MY  DEAR  SouTHEY;  —  Nothing  has  given  me  half  the 
pleasure,  these  many,  many  months,  as  last  week  did 
Edith's  heralding  to  us  of  a  minor  Robert ;  for  that  it  will 
be  a  boy,  one  always  takes  for  granted.  From  the  bottom 
of  my  heart  I  say  it,  I  never  knew  a  man  that  better 

1  For  Southey's  reply,  dated  Bristol,  August  4,  1802,  see  Life  and  Cor- 
respondence, ii.  189-192. 


1802]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  385 

deserved  to  be  a  father  by  right  of  virtues  that  eminently 
belonged  to  him,  than  yourself ;  but  beside  this  I  have 
cheering  hopes  that  Edith  will  be  born  again,  and  be  a 
healthy  woman.  When  I  said,  nothing  had  given  me 
half  the  pleasure,  I  spoke  truly,  and  yet  said  more  than 
you  are  perhaps  aware  of,  for,  by  Lord  Lonsdale's  death, 
there  are  excellent  reasons  for  believing  that  the  Words- 
worths  will  gain  .£5,000,  the  share  of  .which  (and  no  doubt 
Dorothy  will  have  more  than  a  mere  share)  will  render 
William  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  quite  independent. 
They  are  now  in  Yorkshire,  and  he  returns  in  about  a 
month  one  of  us.  .  .  .  Estlin's  Sermons,  I  fear,  are  mere 
moral  discourses.  If  so,  there  is  but  small  chance  of 
their  sale.  But  if  he  had  published  a  volume  of  sermons, 
of  the  same  kind  with  those  which  he  has  published 
singly,  i.  e.  apologetical  and  ecclesiastico-historical,  I  am 
almost  confident,  they  would  have  a  respectable  circula- 
tion. To  publish  single  sermons  is  almost  always  a  foolish 
thing,  like  single  sheet  quarto  poems.  Estlin's  sermon 
on  the  Sabbath  really  surprised  me.  It  was  well  written 
in  style,  I  mean,  and  the  reasoning  throughout  is  not 
only  sound,  but  has  a  cast  of  novelty  in  it.  A  superior 
sermon  altogether  it  appeared  to  me.  I^am  jny_self  a  little 
theological,  and  if  any  bookseller  will  take  the  risque,  I 
shall  in  a  few  weeks,  possibly,  send  to  the  press  a  small 
volume  under  the  title  of  "  Letters  to  the  British  Critic 
concerning  Granville  Sharp's  Remarks  on  the  uses  of 
the  Definitive  article  in  the  Greek  Text  of  the  New 
Testament,  and  the  Revd  C.  Wordsworth's  Six  Letters, 
to  G.  Sharp  Esqr,  in  confirmation  of  the  same,  together 
with  a  Review  of  the  Controversy  between  Horsley  and 
Priestley  respecting  the  faith  of  the  Primitive  Christians." 
This  is  no  mere  dream,  like  my  "  Hymns  to  the  Ele- 
ments," for  I  have  written  more  than  half  the  work.  I 
purpose  afterwards  to  publish  a  book  concerning  Tythes 
and  Church  Establishment,  for  I  conceit  that  I  can  throw 


386  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

great  light  on  the  subject.  You  are  not  apt  to  be  much 
surprised  at  any  change  in  my  mind,  active  as  it  is,  but  it 
will  perhaps  please  you  to  know  that  I  am  become  very 
fond  of  History,  and  that  I  have  read  much  with  very 
great  attention.  I  exceedingly  like  the  job  of  Amadis 
de  Gaul.  I  wish  you  may  half  as  well  like  the  job,  in 
which  I  shall  very  shortly  appear.  Of  its  sale  I  have  no 
doubt;  but  of  its  prudence?  There's  the  rub.  "Con- 
cerning Poetry  and  the  characteristic  merits  of  the  Poets, 
our  contemporaries."  One  volume  Essays,  the  second 
Selections.  —  The  Essays  are  on  Bloomfield,  Burns, 
Bowles,  Cowper,  Campbell,  Darwin,  Hayley,  Rogers,  C. 
Smith,  Southey,  Woolcot,  Wordsworth  —  the  Selections 
from  every  one  who  has  written  at  all,  any  being  above 
the  rank  of  mere  scribblers  —  Pye  and  his  Dative  Case 
Plural,  Pybus,  Cottle,  etc.,  etc.  The  object  is  not  to  ex- 
amine what  is  good  in  each  writer,  but  what  has  ipso  facto 
pleased,  and  to  what  faculties,  or  passions,  or  habits  of  the 
mind  they  may  be  supposed  to  have  given  pleasure.  Of 
course  Darwin  and  Wordsworth  having  given  each  a 
defence  of  their  mode  of  poetry,  and  a  disquisition  on  the 
nature  and  essence  of  poetry  in  general,  I  shall  neces- 
sarily be  led  rather  deeper,  and  these  I  shall  treat  of 
either  first  or  last.  But  I  will  apprise  you  of  one  thing, 
that  although  Wordsworth's  Preface  is  half  a  child  of  my 
own  brain,  and  arose  out  of  conversations  so  frequent  that, 
with  few  exceptions,  we  could  scarcely  either  of  us,  per- 
haps, positively  say  which  first  started  any  particular 
thought  (I  am  speaking  of  the  Preface  as  it  stood  in  the 
second  volume),  yet  I  am  far  from  going  all  lengths  with 
Wordsworth.  He  has  written  lately  a  number  of  Poems 
(thirty-two  in  all),  some  of  them  of  considerable  length 
(the  longest  one  hundred  and  sixty  lines),  the  greater 
number  of  these,  to  my  feelings,  very  excellent  composi- 
tions, but  here  and  there  a  daring  humbleness  of  language 
and  versification,  and  a  strict  adherence  to  matter  of  fact, 


1802]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  387 

even  to  prolixity,  that  startled  me.  His  alterations,  like- 
wise, in  "  Ruth  "  perplexed  me,  and  I  have  thought  and 
thought  again,  and  have  not  had  my  doubts  solved  by 
Wordsworth.  On  the  contrary,  I  rather  suspect  that 
somewhere  or  otlier  there  is  a  radical  difference  in  our 
theoretical  opinions  respecting  poetry ;  this  I  shall  endeav- 
our to  go  to  the  bottom  of,  and,  acting  the  arbitrator  be- 
tween the  old  school  and  the  new  school,  hope  to  lay  down 
some  plain  and  perspicuous,  though  not  superficial  canons 
of  criticism  respecting  poetry.  What  an  admirable  defi- 
nition Milton  gives,  quite  in  an  "  obiter  "  way,  when  he 
says  of  poetry,  that  it  is  "  simple^  sensuous,  passionate  !  " 
It  truly  comprises  the  whole  that  can  be  said  on  the  sub- 
ject. In  the  new  edition  of  the  L.  Ballads  there  is  a  valu- 
able appendix,  which  I  am  sure  you  must  like,  and  in  the 
Preface  itself  considerable  additions ;  one  on  the  dignity 
and  nature  of  the  office  and  character  of  a  Poet,  that  is 
very  grand,  and  of  a  sort  of  Yerulamian  power  and 
majesty,  but  it  is,  in  parts  (and  this  is  the  fault,  me 
judice,  of  all  the  latter  half  of  that  Preface),  obscure 
beyond  any  necessity,  and  the  extreme  elaboration  and 
almost  constrainedness  of  the  diction  contrasted  (to  my 
feelings)  somewhat  harshly  with  the  general  style  of  the 
Poems,  to  which  the  Preface  is  an  introduction.  Sara 
(why,  dear  Southey  !  will  you  write  it  always  Sarah  ? 
Sara,  methinks,  is  associated  with  times  that  you  and  I 
cannot  and  do  not  wish  ever  to  forget),  Sara_sa.id,  with 
some  acuteness,  that  she  wished  all  that  part  of  the  Pre-; 
face  to  have  been  in  blank  verse,  and  vice  versa,  etc.  How- 
ever, I  need  not  say,  that  any  diversity  of  opinion  on  the 
subject  between  you  and  myself,  or  Wordsworth  and  my- 
self, can  only  be  small,  taken  in  a  practical  point  of  view. 
I  rejoice  that  your  History  marches  on  so  victoriously. 
It  is  a  noble  subject,  and  I  have  the  fullest  confidence  of 
your  success  in  it.  The  influence  of  the  Catholic  Reli- 
gion —  the  influence  of  national  glory  on  the  individual 


388  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

morals  of  a  people,  especially  in  the  downfall  of  the 
nobility  of  Portugal,  —  the  strange  fact  (which  seems  to 
be  admitted  as  with  one  voice  by  all  travellers)  of  the 
vileness  of  the  Portuguese  nobles  compared  with  the 
Spanish,  and  of  the  superiority  of  the  Portuguese  com- 
monalty to  the  same  class  in  Spain ;  the  effects  of  colo- 
nization on  a  small  and  not  very  fruitful  country ;  the 
effects  important,  and  too  often  forgotten  of  absolute  acci- 
dents, such  as  the  particular  character  of  a  race  of  Princes 
on  a  nation  —  Oh  what  awful  subjects  these  are  !  I  long 
to  hear  you  read  a  few  chapters  to  me.  But  I  conjure  you 
do  not  let  "  Madoc  "  go  to  sleep.  Oh  that  without  words 
I  could  cause  you  to  know  all  that  I  think,  all  that  I  feel, 
all  that  I  hope  concerning  that  Poem  !  As  to  myself,  all 
my  poetic  genius  (if  ever  I  really  possessed  any  genius, 
and  it  was  not  rather  a  mere  general  aptitude  of  talent, 
and  quickness  in  imitation)  is  gone,  and  I  have  been  fool 
enough  to  suffer  deeply  in  my  mind,  regretting  the  loss, 
which  I  attribute  to  my  long  and  exceedingly  severe 
metaphysical  investigations,  and  these  partly  to  ill-health, 
and  partly  to  private  afflictions  which  rendered  any  sub- 
jects, immediately  connected  with  feeling,  a  source  of  pain 
and  disquiet  to  me. 

There  was  a  Time  when  tho'  my  Path  was  rough, 

I  had  a  heart  that  dallied  with  distress  ; 
And  all  misfortunes  were  but  as  the  stuff 

Whence  Fancy  made  me  dreams  of  Happiness ; 
For  Hope  grew  round  me  like  the  climbing  Vine, 
And  Fruits  and  Foliage,  not  my  own,  seemed  mine ! 
But  now  afflictions  bow  me  down  to  earth, 
Nor  car'd  I  that  they  robb'd  me  of  my  mirth. 

But  oh  !  each  visitation 
Suspends  what  Nature  gave  me  at  my  Birth, 

My  shaping  Spirit  of  Imagination ! 

Here  follow  a  dozen  lines  that  would  give  you  no  pleas- 
ure, and  then  what  follows  :  — 


1802]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  389 

For  not  to  think  of  what  I  needs  must  feel, 
But  to  be  still  and  patient,  all  I  can ; 

And  haply  by  abstruse  Research  to  steal 
From  my  own  Nature  all  the  Natural  Man, 
This  was  my  sole  Resource,  my  wisest  Plan ! 
And  that  which  suits  a  part,  infects  the  whole, 
And  now  is  almost  grown  the  Temper  of  my  Soul. 

Having  written  these  lines,  I  rejoice  for  you  as  well  as 
for  myself,  that  I  am  able  to  inform  you,  tha^jaow  for  a 
long  time  there  has  been  more  love  and  concord  in  my 
House  than  I  have  known  for  years  before.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  a  very  awful  step,  though  the  struggles  of 
my  mind  were  so  violent,  that  my  sleep  became  the  valley 
of  the  shadows  of  Death  and  my  health  was  in  a  state  truly 
alarming.  It  did  alarm  Mrs.  Coleridge.  The  thought  of 
separation  wounded  her  pride,  —  she  was  fully  persuaded 
that  deprived  of  the  society  of  my  children  and  living 
abroad  without  any  friends  I  should  pine  away,  and  the 
fears  of  widowhood  came  upon  her,  and  though  these  feel- 
ings were  wholly  selfish,  yet  they  made  her  serious,  and  that 
was  a  great  point  gained.  For  Mrs.  Coleridge's  mind  has 
very  little  that  is  bad  in  it ;  it  is  an  innocent  mind ;  but 
it  is  light  and  unimpressible,  warm  in  anger,  cold  in  sym- 
pathy, and  in  all  disputes  uniformly  projects  itself  forth 
to  recriminate,  instead  of  turning  itself  inward  with  a 
silent  self-questioning.  Our  virtues  and  our  vices  are 
exact  antitheses.  I  so  attentively  watch  my  own  nature 
that  my  worst  self-delusion  is  a  complete  self-knowledge 
so  mixed  with  intellectual  complacency,  that  my  quick- 
ness to  see  and  readiness  to  acknowledge  my  faults  is  too 
often  frustrated  by  the  small  pain  which  the  sight  of 
them  gives  me,  and  the  consequent  slowness  to  amend 
them.  Mrs.  C.  is  so  stung  with  the  very  first  thought  of 
being  in  the  wrong,  because  she  never  endures  to  look  at 
her  own  mind  in  all  its  faulty  parts,  but  shelters  herself 
from  painful  self -inquiry  by  angry  recrimination.  Never, 


390 


A  LAKE  POET 


[JULY 


I  suppose,  did  the  stern  match-maker  bring  together  two 
minds  so  utterly  contrariant  in  their  primary  and  organ- 
ical  constitution.  Alas !  I  have  suffered  more,  I  think, 
from  the  amiable  propensities  of  my  nature  than  from 
my  worst  faults  and  most  erroneous  habits,  and  I  have 
suffered  much  from  both.  But,  as  I  said,  Mrs.  Coleridge 
was  made  serious,  and  for  the  first  time  since  our  mar- 
riage she  felt  and  acted  as  beseemed  a  wife  and  a  mother 
to  a  husband  and  the  father  of  her  children.  She  prom- 
ised to  set  about  an  alteration  in  her  external  manners 
and  looks  and  language,  and  to  fight  against  her  invet- 
erate habits  of  puny  thwarting  and  unintermitting  dyspa- 
thy,  this  immediately,  and  to  do  her  best  endeavours  to 
cherish  other  feelings.  I,  on  my  part,  promised  to  be 
more  attentive  to  all  her  feelings  of  pride,  etc.,  etc.,  and 
to  try  to  correct  my  habits  of  impetuous  censure.  We 
have  both  kept  our  promises,  and  she  has  found  herself 
so  much  more  happy  than  she  had  been  for  years  before, 
that  I  have  the  most  confident  hopes  that  this  happy 
revolution  in  our  domestic  affairs  will  be  permanent,  and 
that  this  external  conformity  will  gradually  generate  a 
greater  inward  likeness  of  thoughts  and  attachments  than 
has  hitherto  existed  between  us.  Believe  me,  if  you  were 
here,  it  would  give  you  a  deep  delight  to  observe  the  dif- 
ference of  our  minutely  conduct  towards  each  other,  from 
that  which,  I  fear,  could  not  but  have  disturbed  your 
comfort  when  you  were  here  last.  Enough.  But  I  am 
sure  you  have  not  felt  it  tedious. 

So  Corry l  and  you  are  off  ?  I  suspected  it,  but  Edith 
never  mentioned  an  iota  of  the  business  to  her  sister.  It 
is  well.  It  was  not  your  destiny.  Wherever  you  are, 
God  bless  you !  My  health  is  weak  enough,  but  it  is  so 
far  amended  that  it  is  far  less  dependent  on  the  influ- 
ences of  the  weather.  The  mountains  are  better  friends 

1  The   Right   Hon.  Isaac   Corry,     land,   to  whom    Southey  acted    as 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  for  Ire-    secretary  for  a  short  time. 


1802]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  391 

in  this  respect.  Would  that  I  could  flatter  myself  that 
the  same  would  be  the  case  with  you.  The  only  objec- 
tion on  my  part  is  now,  —  God  be  praised  !  —  done  away. 
The  services  and  benefits  I  should  receive  from  your 
society  and  the  spur  of  your  example  would  be  incalcu- 
lable. The  house  consists  —  the  first  floor  (or  rather 
ground  floor)  of  a  kitchen  and  a  back  kitchen,  a  large 
parlour  and  two  nice  small  parlours ;  the  second  floor  of 
three  bedrooms,  one  a  large  one,  and  one  large  drawing- 
room  ;  the  third  floor  or  floors  of  three  bedrooms  —  in 
all  twelve  rooms.  Besides  these,  Mr.  Jackson  offers  to 
make  that  nice  outhouse  or  workshop  either  two  rooms 
or  one  noble  large  one  for  a  study  if  I  wish  it.  If  it 
suited  you,  you  might  have  one  kitchen,  or  (if  Edith  and 
Sara  thought  it  would  .answer)  we  might  have  the  two 
kitchens  in  common.  You  might  have,  I  say,  the  whole 
ground  floor,  consisting  of  two  sweet  wing-rooms,  com- 
manding that  loveliest  view  of  Borrowdale,  and  the  great 
parlour  ;  and  supposing  we  each  were  forced  to  have  two 
servants,  a  nursemaid  and  a  housemaid,  the  two  house- 
maids would  "sleep  together  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms, 
and  the  nursemaids  have  each  a  room  to  herself,  and  the 
long  room  on  the  ground  floor  must  be  yours  and 
Edith's  room,  and  if  Mary  be  with  you,  the  other  hers. 
We  should  have  the  whole  second  floor,  consisting  of  the 
drawing-room,  which  would  be  Mrs.  Coleridge's  parlour, 
two  bedrooms,  which  (as  I  am  so  often  ill,  and  when  ill 
cannot  rest  at  all,  unless  I  have  a  bed  to  myself)  is  ab- 
solutely necessary  for  me,  and  one  room  for  you  if  occa- 
sion should  be,  or  any  friend  of  yours  or  mine.  The 
highest  room  in  the  house  is  a  very  large  one  intended 
for  two,  but  suffered  to  remain  one  by  my  desire.  It 
would  be  a  capital  healthy  nursery.  The  outhouse  would 
become  my  study,  and  I  have  a  couch-bed  on  which  I  am 
now  sitting  (in  bed)  and  writing  to  you.  It  is  now  in  the 
study;  of  course  it  would  be  removed  to  the  outhouse 


392  A  LAKE  POET  [Auo. 

when  that  became  my  study,  and  would  be  a  second  spare 
bed.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  Mr.  Jackson  would  will- 
ingly let  us  retain  my  present  study,  which  might  be  your 
library  and  study  room.  My  dear  Southey,  I  merely 
state  these  things  to  you.  All  our  lot  on  earth  is  com- 
promise. Blessings  obtained  by  blessings  foregone,  or  by 
evils  undergone.  I  should  be  glad,  no  doubt,  if  you 
thought  that  your  health  and  happiness  would  find  a 
home  under  the  same  roof  with  me ;  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  not  accuse  me  as  indelicate  or  obtrusive  in  mention- 
ing things  as  they  are ;  but  if  you  decline  it  altogether,  I 
shall  know  that  you  have  good  reasons  for  doing  so,  and 
be  perfectly  satisfied,  for  if  it  detracted  from  your  com- 
fort it  could,  of  course,  be  nothing  but  the  contrary  of 
all  advantage  to  me.  You  would  have  access  to  four  or 
five  libraries  :  Sir  W.  Lawson's,  a  most  magnificent  one, 
but  chiefly  in  Natural  History,  Travels,  etc. ;  Carlton 
House  (I  am  a,  prodigious  favourite  of  Mrs.  Wallis,  the 
owner  and  resident,  mother  of  the  Privy  Counsellor 
Wallis) ;  Carlisle,  Dean  and  Chapter ;  the  Library  at 
Hawkshead  School,  and  another  (of  what  value  I  know 
not)  at  St.  Bees,  whither  I  mean  to  walk  to-morrow 
to  spend  five  or  six  days  for  bathing.  It  is  four  miles 
from  Whitehaven  by  the  seaside.  Mrs.  Coleridge  is  but 
poorly,  children  well.  Love  to  Edith  and  May,  and  to 
whom  I  am  at  all  interested.  God  love  you.  If  you  let 
me  hear  from  you,  it  is  among  my  firmest  resolves  —  God 
ha'  mercy  on  'em! — to  be  a  regular  correspondent  of 
yours. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

P.  S.  Mrs.  C.  must  have  one  room  on  the  ground  floor, 
but  this  is  only  putting  one  of  your  rooms  on  the  second 
floor. 


1802]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  393 


CXXVIII.     TO   THE   SAME. 

Monday  night,  August  9,  1802. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  Derwent  can  say  his  letters, 
and  if  you  could  but  see  his  darling  mouth  when  he  shouts 
out  Q !  .This  is  a  digression. 

On  Sunday,  August  1st,1  after  morning  church,  I  left 
Greta  Hall,  crossed  the  fields  to  Portinscale,  went  through 
Newlands,  where  "  Great  Robinson  looks  down  upon  Mar- 
den's  Bower,"  and  drank  tea  at  Buttermere,  crossed  the 
mountains  to  Ennerdale,  and  slept  at  a  farm-house  a  little 
below  the  foot  of  the  lake,  spent  the  greater  part  of  the 
next  day  mountaineering,  and  went  in  the  evening  through 
Egremont  to  St.  Bees,  and  slept  there  ;  returned  next 
day  to  Egremont,  and  slept  there  ;  went  by  the  sea-coast 
as  far  as  Gosforth,  then  turned  off  and  went  up  Was- 
dale,  and  slept  at  T.  Tyson's  at  the  head  of  the  vale. 
Thursday  morning  crossed  the  mountains  and  ascended 
Scafell,  which  is  more  than  a  hundred  yards  higher  than 
either  Helvellyn  or  Skiddaw  ;  spent  the  whole  day  among 
clouds,  and  one  of  them  a  frightening  thunder-cloud ; 
slipped  down  into  Eskdale,  and  there  slept,  and  spent  a 
good  part  of  the  next  day ;  proceeded  that  evening  to 
Devock  Lake,  and  slept  at  Ulpha  Kirk ;  on  Saturday 
passed  through  the  Dunnerdale  Mountains  to  Broughton 

1  "  On  Sunday,  August  1st,  \  after  I  left  the  besom  scattered  on  the 
12,  I  had  a  shirt,  cravat,  2  pairs  of  kitchen  floor,  off  I  sallied  over  the 
stockings,  a  little  paper,  and  half  bridge,  through  the  hop  -  field, 
dozen  pens,  a  German  book  (Voss's  through  the  Prospect  Bridge,  at 
Poems),  and  a  little  tea  and  sugar,  Portinscale,  so  on  by  the  tall  birch 
with  my  night  cap,  packed  up  in  my  that  grows  out  of  the  centre  of  the 
natty  green  oil-skin,  neatly  squared,  huge  oak,  along  into  Newlands." 
and  put  into  my  net  knapsack,  and  MS.  Journal  of  tour  in  the  Lake 
the  knapsack  on  my  back  and  the  District,  August  1—9,  1802,  sent  in 
besom  stick  in  my  hand,  which  for  the  form  of  a  letter  to  the  Words- 
want  of  a  better,  and  in  spite  of  worths  and  transcribed  by  Miss  Sa- 
Mrs.  C.  and  Mary,  who  both  raised  rah  Hutchinson. 
their  voices  against  it,  especially  as 


394  A  LAKE  POET  [Auo. 

Vale,  Tarver  Vale,  and  in  upon  Coniston.  On  Sunday  I 
surveyed  the  lake,  etc.,  of  Coniston,  and  proceeded  to 
Bratlia,  and  slept  at  Lloyd's  house ;  this  morning  walked 
from  Bratha  to  Grasmere,  and  from  Grasmere  to  Greta 
Hall,  where  I  now  am,  quite  sweet  and  ablute,  and  have 
not  even  now  read  through  your  letter,  which  I  will  an- 
swer by  the  night's  post,  and  therefore  must  defer  all  ac- 
count of  my  very  interesting  tour,  saying  only  that  of  all 
earthly  things  which  I  have  beheld,  the  view  of  Scafell 
and  from  Scafell  (both  views  from  its  own  summit)  is  the 
most  heart-exciting. 

And  now  for  business.  The  rent  of  the  whole  house, 
including  taxes  and  the  furniture  we  have,  will  not  be 
under  forty,  and  not  above  forty-two,  pounds  a  year.  You 
will  have  half  the  house  and  half  the  furniture,  and  of 
course  your  share  will  be  either  twenty  pounds  or  twenty 
guineas.  As  to  furniture,  the  house  certainly  will  not  be 
wholly,  that  is,  completely  furnished  by  Jackson.  Two 
rooms  we  must  somehow  or  other  furnish  between  us,  but 
not  immediately ;  you  may  pass  the  winter  without  it,  and 
it  is  hard  if  we  cannot  raise  thirty  pounds  in  the  course 
of  the  winter  between  us.  And  whatever  we  buy  may  be 
disposed  of  any  Saturday,  to  a  moral  certainty,  at  its  full 
value,  or  Mr.  Jackson,  who  is  uncommonly  desirous  that 
you  should  come,  will  take  it.  But  we  can  get  on  for  the 
winter  well  enough. 

Your  books  may  come  all  the  way  from  Bristol  either 
to  Whitehaven,  Maryport,  or  Workington  ;  sometimes  di- 
rectly, always  by  means  of  Liverpool.  In  the  latter  case, 
they  must  be  sent  to  Whitehaven,  from  whence  waggons 
come  to  Keswick  twice  a  week.  You  will  have  twenty  or 
thirty  shillings  to  lay  out  in  tin  and  crockery,  and  you 
must  bring  with  you,  or  buy  here  (which  you  may  do  at 
eight  months'  credit),  knives  and  forks,  etc.,  and  all  your 
linen,  from  the  diaper  subvestments  of  the  young  jacobin  J 

1  "  The  following  month,  September  (1802),  was  marked  by  the  birth 


1802]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  395 

to  diaper  table  clothes,  sheets,  napkins,  etc.     But  these,  I 
suppose,  you  already  have. 

What  else  I  have  to  say  I  cannot  tell,  and  indeed  shall 
be  too  late  for  the  post.  But  I  will  write  soon  again.  I 
was  exceedingly  amused  with  the  Cottelism  ;  but  I  have 
not  time  to  speak  of  this  or  of  other  parts  of  your  letter. 
I  believe  that  I  can  execute  the  criticisms  with  no  offence 
to  Hay  ley,  and  in  a  manner  highly  satisfactory  to  the  ad- 
mirers of  the  poet  Bloomfield,  and  to  the  friends  of  the 
man  Bloomfield.  But  there  are  certainly  other  objections 
of  great  weight. 

Sara  is  well,  and  the  children  pretty  well.  Hartley  is 
almost  ill  with  transport  at  my  Scafell  expedition.  That 
child  is  a  poet,  spite  of  the  forehead,  " villainously  low" 
which  his  mother  smuggled  into  his  face.  Derwent  is 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  but  very  backward  with  his 
tongue,  although  he  can  say  all  his  letters.  —  N.  B.  Not 
out  of  the  book.  God  bless  you  and  yours ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

If  you  are  able  to  determine,  you  will  of  course  let  me 
know  it  without  waiting  for  a  second  letter  from  me  ;  as 
if  you  determine  in  the  affirmative l  of  the  scheme,  it  will 
be  a  great  motive  with  Jackson,  indeed,  a  most  infallible 
one,  to  get  immediately  to  work  so  as  to  have  the  whole 
perfectly  furnished  six  weeks  at  least  before  your  arrival. 
Another  reason  for  your  writing  immediately  is,  that  we 
may  lay  you  in  a  stock  of  coals  during  the  summer,  which  is 
a  saving  of  some  pounds  ;  when  I  say  determine,  of  course 
I  mean  such  determination  as  the  thousand  contingencies, 
black  and  white,  permit  a  wise  man  to  make,  and  which 
would  be  enough  for  me  to  act  on. 

of  his  first  child,  a  daughter,  named  J  Southey's  reply,  which  was  not 

after    her     paternal     grandmother,  in  the  affirmative,  has  not  heen  pre- 

Margaret."    Southey's  Life  and  Cor-  served.    The  joint-residence  at  Greta 

respondent,  ii.  192.  Hall  began  in  September,  1803. 


396  A  LAKE  POET  [Aua. 

Sara  will  write  to  Edith  soon. 

I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  Poole  ;  but  I  have 
found  so  many  letters  that  I  have  opened  yours  only. 

CXXIX.     TO   W.    SOTHEBY. 

Thursday,  August  26,  1802. 

MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  was  absent  on  a  little  excursion 
when  your  letter  arrived,  and  since  my  return  I  have  been 
waiting  and  making  every  enquiry  in  the  hopes  of  an- 
nouncing the  receipt  of  your  "  Orestes  "  and  its  compan- 
ions, with  my  sincere  thanks  for  your  kindness.  But  I  can 
hear  nothing  of  them.  Mr.  Lamb,1  however,  goes  to  Pen- 
rith  next  week,  and  will  make  strict  scrutiny.  I  am  not 
to  find  the  "  Welsh  Tour  "  among  them ;  and  yet  I  think 
I  am  correct  in  referring  the  ode  "  Netley  Abbey  "  to  that 
collection,  —  a  poem  which  I  believe  I  can  very  nearly 
repeat  by  heart,  though  it  must  have  been  four  or  five 
years  since  I  last  read  it.  I  well  remember  that,  after 
reading  your  "  Welsh  Tour,"  Southey  observed  to  me  that 
you,  I,  and  himself  had  all  done  ourselves  harm  by  suffer- 
ing an  admiration  of  Bowles  to  bubble  up  too  often  on 
the  surface  of  our  poems.  In  perusing  the  second  volume 
of  Bowles,  which  I  owe  to  your  kindness,  I  met  a  line  of 
my  own  which  gave  me  great  pleasure,  from  the  thought 
what  a  pride  and  joy  I  should  have  had  at  the  time  of 
writing  it  if  I  had  supposed  it  possible  that  Bowles  would 
have  adopted  it.  The  line  is,  — 

Had  melancholy  mus'd  herself  to  sleep.2 

1  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb's  visit  Watching  the  mind  with  tender  cozenage 

to  Greta  Hall,  which  lasted  three  And  shaping  things  that  are  not." 
full  weeks,  must  have  extended  from 

(about)  August  12  to  September  2,  "  Coombe-Ellen,  written  in  Rad- 

1802.      Letters   of  Charles  Lamb,  i.  norshire,  September,  1798."  "  Poems 

180-184.  of    William    Lisle    Bowles,"    Gali- 

fHeremdancholy^onthepalecragslaid,     9nani>  P'  139'     For  "  Melancholy,  a 
Might  muse  herself  to  sleep ;  or  Fancy     Fragment,"    see     Poetical     Works, 
corne,  p.  34. 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  397 

I  wrote  the  lines  at  nineteen,  and  published  them  many 
years  ago  in  the  "  Morning  Post "  as  a  fragment,  and  as 
they  are  but  twelve  lines,  I  will  transcribe  them :  — 

Upon  a  mouldering  abbey's  broadest  wall, 
Where  ruining  ivies  prop  the  ruins  steep  — 
Her  folded  arms  wrapping  her  tatter'd  pall 
Had  Melancholy  mused  herself  to  sleep. 

The  fern  was  press'd  beneath  her  hair, 
The  dark  green  Adder's  Tongue  was  there ; 
And  still  as  came  the  flagging  sea  gales  weak, 
Her  long  lank  leaf  bow'd  fluttering  o'er  her  cheek. 

Her  pallid  cheek  was  flush'd  ;  her  eager  look 
Beam'd  eloquent  in  slumber !     Inly  wrought, 
Imperfect  sounds  her  moving  lips  forsook, 
And  her  bent  forehead  work'd  with  troubled  thought. 

I  met  these  lines  yesterday  by  accident,  and  ill  as  they 
are  written  there  seemed  to  me  a  force  and  distinctness 
of  image  in  them  that  were  buds  of  promise  in  a  school- 
boy performance,  though  I  am  giving  them  perhaps  more 
than  their  deserts  in  thus  assuring  them  a  reading  from 
you.  I  have  finished  the  "  First  Navigator,"  and  Mr. 
Tomkins1  may  have  it  whenever  he  wishes.  It  would  be 
gratifying  to  me  if  you  would  look  it  over  and  alter  any- 
thing you  like.  My  whole  wish  and  purpose  is  to  serve 
Mr.  Tomkins,  and  you  are  not  only  much  more  in  the 
habit  of  writing  verse  than  I  am,  but  must  needs  have  a 
better  tact  of  what  will  offend  that  class  of  readers  into 
whose  hands  a  showy  publication  is  likely  to  fall.  I  do 
not  mean,  my  dear  sir,  to  impose  on  you  ten  minutes' 
thought,  but  often  currente  oculo  a  better  phrase  or  posi- 
tion of  words  will  suggest  itself.  As  to  the  ten  pounds, 
it  is  more  than  the  thing  is  worth,  either  in  German  or 
English.  Mr.  Tomkins  will  better  give  the  true  value  of 
it  by  kindly  accepting  what  is  given  with  kindness.  Two 
1  I  have  not  been  able  to  verify  this  reference. 


398  A  LAKE    POET  [Auo. 

or  three  copies  presented  in  my  name,  one  to  each  of  the 
two  or  three  friends  of  mine  who  are  likely  to  be  pleased 
with  a  fine  book,  —  this  is  the  utmost  I  desire  or  will 
receive.  I  shall  for  the  ensuing  quarter  send  occasional 
verses,  etc.,  to  the  "  Morning  Post,"  under  the  signature 
"Ear^o-e,  and  I  mention  this  to  you  because  I  have  some 
intention  of  translating  Voss's  "  Idylls  "  in  English  hex- 
ameter, with  a  little  prefatory  essay  on  modern  hexame- 
ters. I  have  discovered  that  the  poetical  parts  of  the 
Bible  and  the  best  parts  of  Ossian  are  little  more  than 
slovenly  hexameters,  and  the  rhythmical  prose  of  Gesuer 
is  still  more  so,  and  reads  exactly  like  that  metre  in  Boe- 
thius'  and  Seneca's  tragedies,  which  consists  of  the  latter 
half  of  the  hexameter.  The  thing  is  worth  an  experi- 
ment, and  I  wish  it  to  be  considered  merely  as  an  experi- 
ment. I  need  not  say  that  the  greater  number  of  the 
verses  signed  "Eor^cre  will  be  such  as  were  never  meant 
for  anything  else  but  the  peritura  charta  of  the  "  Morn- 
ing Post." 

I  had  written  thus  far  when  your  letter  of  the  16th 
arrived,  franked  on  the  23d  from  Weymouth,  with  a  po- 
lite apology  from  Mr.  Bedingfell  (if  I  have  rightly  deci- 
phered the  name)  for  its  detention.  I  am  vexed  I  did  not 
write  immediately  on  my  return  home,  but  I  waited,  day 
after  day,  in  hopes  of  the  "  Orestes,"  etc.  It  is  an  old 
proverb  that  "  extremes  meet,"  and  I  have  often  regretted 
that  I  had  not  noted  down  as  they  wcurred  the  inter- 
esting instances  in  which  the  proverb  is  verified.  The 
newest  subject,  though  brought  from  the  planets  (or  as- 
teroids) Ceres  and  Pallas,  could  not  excite  my  curiosity 
more  than  "  Orestes."  I  will  write  immediately  to  Mr. 
Clarkson,  who  resides  at  the  foot  of  Ulles water,  and  beg 
him  to  walk  into  Penrith,  and  ask  at  all  the  inns  if  any 
parcel  have  arrived ;  if  not,  I  will  myself  write  to  Mr. 
Faulder  and  inform  him  of  the  failure.  There  is  a  sub- 
ject of  great  merit  in  the  ancient  mythology  hitherto  un- 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  399 

touched  —  I  believe  so,  at  least.  But  for  the  mode  of  the 
death,  which  mingles  the  ludicrous  and  terrible,  but  which 
might  be  easily  altered,  it  is  one  of  the  finest  subjects  for 
tragedy  that  I  am  acquainted  with.  Medea,  after  the 
murder  of  her  children  [having]  fled  to  the  court  of  the 
old  King  Pelias,  was  regarded  with  superstitious  horror, 
and  shunned  or  insulted  by  the  daughters  of  Pelias,  till, 
hearing  of  her  miraculous  restoration  of  ^Eson,  they  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  recalling  by  her  means  the  youth  of  their 
own  father.  She  avails  herself  of  their  credulity,  and  so 
works  them  up  by  pretended  magical  rites  that  they 
consent  to  kill  their  father  in  his  sleep  and  throw  him 
into  the  magic  cauldron.  Which  done,  Medea  leaves  them 
with  bitter  taunts  of  triumph.  The  daughters  are  called 
Asteropaea,  Autonoe,  and  Alcestis.  Ovid  alludes  briefly 
to  this  story  in  the  couplet,  — 

"  Quid  referam  Peliae  natas  pietate  nocentes, 
Caesaque  virgineS  membra  paterna  maim  ?  " 

Ovid,  Epist.  XII.  129,  130. 

What  a  thing  to  have  seen  a  tragedy  raised  on  this  fable 
by  Milton,  in  rivalry  of  the  "  Macbeth  "  of  Shakespeare  ! 
The  character  of  Medea,  wandering  and  fierce,  and  in- 
vested with  impunity  by  the  strangeness  and  excess  of  her 
guilt,  and  truly  an  injured  woman  on  the  other  hand  and 
possessed  of  supernatural  powers  !  The  same  story  is  told 
in  a  very  different  way  by  some  authors,  and  out  of  their 
narrations  matter  might  be  culled  that  would  very  well 
coincide  with  and  fill  up  the  main  incidents  —  her  impos- 
ing the  sacred  image  of  Diana  on  the  priesthood  of  lolcus, 
and  persuading  them  to  join  with  her  in  inducing  the 
daughters  of  Pelias  to  kill  their  father ;  the  daughters 
under  the  persuasion  that  their  father's  youth  would  be 
restored,  the  priests  under  the  faith  that  the  goddess  re- 
quired the  death  of  the  old  king,  and  that  the  safety  of 
the  country  depended  on  it.  In  this  way  Medea  might  be 
suffered  to  escape  under  the  direct  protection  of  the  priest- 


400 


A  LAKE  POET 


[AUG. 


hood,  who  may  afterwards  discover  the  delusion.      The 
moral  of  the  piece  would  be  a  very  fine  one. 

Wordsworth  wrote  a  very  animated  account  of  his  dif- 
ficulties and  his  joyous  meeting  with  you,  which  he  calls 
the  happy  rencontre  or  fortunate  rainstorm.  Oh !  that 
you  had  been  with  me  during  a  thunder-storm  1  on  Thurs- 
day, August  the  3d  !  I  was  sheltered  (in  the  phrase  of 
the  country,  lownded^)  in  a  sort  of  natural  porch  on  the 
summit  of  Sea  Fell,  the  central  mountain  of  our  Giants, 
said  to  be  higher  than  Skiddaw  or  Helvellyn,  and  in 
chasm,  naked  crag,  bursting  springs,  and  waterfall  the 
most  interesting,  without  a  rival.  When  the  cloud  passed 
away,  to  my  right  and  left,  and  behind  me,  stood  a  great 
national  convention  of  mountains  which  our  ancestors 
most  descriptively  called  Copland,  that  is,  the  Land  of 
Heads.  Before  me  the  mountains  died  away  down  to  the 
sea  in  eleven  parallel  ridges ;  close  under  my  feet,  as  it 


1  "  O  my  God !  what  enormous 
mountains  there  are  close  by  me, 
and  yet  below  the  hill  I  stand  on. 
.  .  .  And  here  I  am,  lounded  [i.  e., 
sheltered],  —  so  fully  lounded,  — 
that  though  the  wind  is  strong  and 
the  clouds  are  hastening  hither  from 
the  sea,  and  the  whole  air  seaward 
has  a  lurid  look,  and  we  shall  cer- 
tainly have  thunder,  —  yet  here  (but 
that  I  am  hungered  and  provision- 
less),  here  I  could  be  warm  and  wait, 
methinks,  for  to-morrow's  sun  — 
and  on  a  nice  stone  table  am  I  now 
at  this  moment  writing  to  you  —  be- 
tween 2  and  3  o'clock,  as  I  guess. 
Surely  the  first  letter  ever  written 
from  the  top  of  Sea  Fell." 

' '  After  the  thunder  -  storm  I 
shouted  out  all  your  names  in  the 
sheep-fold  —  where  echo  came  upon 
echo,  and  then  Hartley  and  Der- 
went,  and  then  I  laughed  and 
shouted  Joanna.  It  leaves  all  the 


echoes  I  ever  heard  far,  far  behind, 
in  number,  distinctness  and  human- 
ness  of  voice ;  and  then,  not  to  for- 
get an  old  friend,  I  made  them  all 
say  Dr.  Dodd  etc."  MS.  Journal, 
August  6,  1802.  Compare  Lamb's 
Latin  letter  of  October  9,  1802  :  — 

"  Ista  tua  Carmina  Chamouniana 
satis  grandia  esse  mihi  constat ;  sed 
hoc  mihi  nonnihil  displicet,  quod  in 
iis  illae  montium  Grisosonum  inter 
se  responsiones  totidem  reboant  an- 
glice",  God,  God,  haud  aliter  atque 
temet  audivi  tuas  [sic]  montes  Cum- 
brianas  [sic]  resonare  docentes,  Tod, 
Tod,  nempe  Doctorem  inf  elicem : 
vocem  certe  haud  Deum  sonantem." 
Letters  of  Charles  Lamb,  i.  185.  See, 
too,  Canon  Aiuger's  translation  and 
note,  ibid.  p.  331.  See,  also.  Southey's 
Letter  to  Grosvenor  Bedford,  Janu- 
ary 9,  1804.  Life  and  Correspond- 
ence, ii.  248. 


1802]  TO   W.  SOTHEBY  401 

were,  were  three  vales :  Wastdale,  with  its  lake ;  Miter- 
dale  and  Eskdale,  with  the  rivers  Irt,  Mite,  and  Esk  seen 
from  their  very  fountains  to  their  fall  into  the  sea  at  Ra- 
venglass  Bay,  which,  with  these  rivers,  form  to  the  eye 
a  perfect  trident. 

Turning  round,  I  looked  through  Borrowdale  out  upon 
the  Derwentwater  and  the  Vale  of  Keswick,  even  to  my 
own  house,  where  my  own  children  were.  Indeed,  I  had 
altogether  a  most  interesting  walk  through  Newlands  to 
Buttermere,  over  the  fells  to  Ennerdale,  to  St.  Bees ;  up 
Wastdale  to  Sea  Fell,  down  Eskdale  to  Devock  Lake, 
Ulpha  Kirk,  Broughton  Mills,  Tarver,  Coniston,  Winder- 
mere,  Grasmere,  Keswick.  If  it  would  entertain  you,  I 
would  transcribe  my  notes  and  send  them  you  by  the  first 
opportunity.  I  have  scarce  left  room  for  my  best  wishes 
to  Mrs.  and  Miss  Sotheby,  and  affectionate  wishes  for 
your  happiness  and  all  who  constitute  it. 

With  unfeigned  esteem,  dear  sir, 

Yours,  etc.,  S.  T.  COLEEIDGE. 

P.  S.  I  am  ashamed  to  send  you  a  scrawl  so  like  in 
form  to  a  servant  wench's  first  letter.  You  will  see  that 
the  first  half  was  written  before  I  received  your  last  letter. 

CXXX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

GRETA  HALL,  KESWICK,  September  10,  1802. 
MY  DEAR  SIR,  —  The  books  have  not  yet  arrived,  and 
I  am  wholly  unable  to  account  for  the  delay.  I  suspect 
that  the  cause  of  it  may  be  Mr.  Faulder's  mistake  in  send- 
ing them  by  the  Carlisle  waggon.  A  person  is  going  to 
Carlisle  on  Monday  from  this  place,  and  will  make  dili- 
gent inquiry,  and,  if  he  succeed,  still  I  cannot  have  them 
in  less  than  a  week,  as  they  must  return  to  Penrith  and 
there  wait  for  the  next  Tuesday's  carrier.  I  ought,  per- 
haps, to  be  ashamed  of  my  weakness,  but  I  must  confess  I 
have  been  downright  vexed  by  the  business.  Every  cart, 


402  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

every  return-chaise  from  Penrith  has  renewed  my  hopes, 
till  I  began  to  play  tricks  with  my  own  impatience,  and  say, 
"  Well,  I  take  it  for  granted  that  I  shan't  get  them  for 
these  seven  days,"  etc.,  —  with  other  of  those  half -lies  that 
fear  begets  on  hope.  You  have  imposed  a  pleasing  task 
on  me  in  requesting  the  minutiae  of  my  opinions  concern- 
ing your  "  Orestes."  Whatever  these  opinions  may  be, 
the  disclosure  of  them  will  be  a  sort  of  map  of  my  mind, 
as  a  poet  and  reasoner,  and  my  curiosity  is  strongly  ex- 
cited. I  feel  you  a  man  of  genius  in  the  choice  of  the 
subject.  It  is  my  faith  that  the  genus  irritabile  is  a 
phrase  applicable  only  to  bad  poets.  Men  of  great  genius 
have,  indeed,  as  an  essential  of  their  composition,  great 
sensibility,  but  they  have  likewise  great  confidence  in  their 
own  powers,  and  fear  must  always  precede  anger  in  the 
human  mind.  I  can  with  truth  say  that,  from  those  I 
love,  mere  general  praise  of  anything  I  have  written  is  as 
far  from  giving  me  pleasure  as  mere  general  censure  ;  in 
anything,  I  mean,  to  which  I  have  devoted  much  time  or 
effort.  "  Be  minute,  and  assign  your  reasons  often,  and 
your  first  impressions  always,  and  then  blame  or  praise. 
I  care  not  which,  I  shall  be  gratified."  These  are  my 
sentiments,  and  I  assuredly  believe  that  they  are  the  senti- 
ments of  all  who  have  indeed  felt  a  true  call  to  the  min- 
istry of  song.  Of  course,  I,  too,  will  act  on  the  golden  rule 
of  doing  to  others  what  I  wish  others  to  do  unto  me.  But, 
while  I  think  of  it,  let  me  say  that  I  should  be  much  con- 
cerned if  you  applied  this  to  the  "  First  Navigator."  It 
would  absolutely  mortify  me  if  you  did  more  than  look 
over  it,  and  when  a  correction  suggested  itself  to  you,  take 
your  pen  and  make  it,  and  let  the  copy  go  to  Tomkins. 
What  they  have  been,  I  shall  know  when  I  see  the  thing 
in  print ;  for  it  must  please  the  present  times  if  it  please 
any,  and  you  have  been  far  more  in  the  fashionable  world 
than  I,  and  must  needs  have  a  finer  and  surer  tact  of  that 
which  will  offend  or  disgust  in  the  higher  circles  of  life. 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  403 

Yet  it  is  not  what  I  should  have  advised  Tomkins  to  do, 
and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  cannot  and  will  not  accept 
more  than  a  brace  of  copies  from  him.  I  do  not  like  to 
be  associated  in  a  man's  mind  with  his  losses.  If  he  have 
the  translation  gratis,  he  must  take  it  on  his  own  judg- 
ment ;  but  when  a  man  pays  for  a  thing,  and  he  loses  by 
it,  the  idea  will  creep  in,  spite  of  himself,  that  the  failure 
was  in  part  owing  to  the  badness  of  the  translation. 
While  I  was  translating  the  "  Wallenstein,"  I  told  Long- 
man it  would  never  answer;  when  I  had  finished  it  I 
wrote  to  him  and  foretold  that  it  would  be  waste  paper 
on  his  shelves,  and  the  dullness  charitably  laid  upon  my 
shoulders.  Longman  lost  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
by  the  work,  fifty  pounds  of  which  had  been  paid  to  me, 
—  poor  pay,  Heaven  knows  !  for  a  thick  octavo  volume  of 
blank  verse  ;  and  yet  I  am  sure  that  Longman  never 
thinks  of  me  but  "  Wallenstein  "  and  the  ghosts  of  his 
departed  guineas  dance  an  ugly  waltz  round  my  idea. 
This  would  not  disturb  me  a  tittle,  if  I  thought  well  of 
the  work  myself.  I  should  feel  a  confidence  that  it  would 
win  its  way  at  last ;  but  this  is  not  the  case  with  Gesner's 
"  Der  erste  Schiffer."  It  may  as  well  lie  here  till  Tom- 
kins  wants  it.  Let  him  only  give  me  a  week's  notice,  and 
I  will  transmit  it  to  you  with  a  large  margin.  Bowles's 
stanzas  on  "  Navigation  " 1  are  among  the  best  in  that  sec- 
ond volume,  but  the  whole  volume  is  wofully  inferior  to 
its  predecessor.  There  reigns  through  all  the  blank  verse 
poems  such  a  perpetual  trick  of  moralizing  everything, 
which  is  very  well,  occasionally,  but  never  to  see  or  de- 
scribe any  interesting  appearance  in  nature  without  con- 
necting it,  by  dim  analogies,  with  the  moral  world  proves 
faintness  of  impression.  Nature  has  her  proper  interest, 
and  he  will  know  what  it  is  who  believes  and  feels  that 
everything  has  a  life  of  its  own,  and  that  we  are  all  One 

1  "The   Spirit  of  Navigation   and  Discovery."      "Bowles's    Poetical 
Works,"  Galignani,  p.  142. 


404  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

Life.  A  poet's  heart  and  intellect  should  be  combined, 
intimately  combined  and  unified  with  the  great  appear- 
ariceiTof  nature,  and  not  merely  held  in  solution  and  loose 
mixture  with  them,  in  the  shape  of  formal  similes.  I  do 
not  mean  to  exclude  these  formal  similes ;  there  are  moods 
of  mind  in  which  they  are  natural,  pleasing  moods  of 
mind,  and  such  as  a  poet  will  often  have,  and  sometimes 
express  ;  but  they  are  not  his  highest  and  most  appropri- 
ate moods.  They  are  "  sermoni  propriora,"  which  I  once 
translated  "  properer  for  a  sermon."  The  truth  is, 
Bowles  has  indeed  the  sensibility  of  a  poet,  but  he  has  not 
the  passion  of  a  great  poet.  His  latter  writings  all  want 
native  passion.  Milton  here  and  there  supplies  him  with 
an  appearance  of  it,  but  he  has  no  native  passion  because 
he  is  not  a  thinker,  and  has  probably  weakened  his  in- 
tellect by  the  haunting  fear  of  becoming  extravagant. 
Young,  somewhere  in  one  of  his  prose  works,  remarks 
that  there  is  as  profound  a  logic  in  the  most  daring  and 
dithyrambic  parts  of  Pindar  as  in  the  "  Organon  "  of 
Aristotle.  The  remark  is  a  valuable  one. 

Poetic  feelings,  like  the  flexuous  boughs 
Of  mighty  oaks !  yield  homage  to  the  gale, 
Toss  in  the  strong  winds,  drive  before  the  gust, 
Themselves  one  giddy  storm  of  fluttering  leaves ; 
Yet,  all  the  while,  self-limited,  remain 
Equally  near  the  fix'd  and  parent  trunk 
Of  truth  in  nature  —  in  the  howling  blast, 
As  in  the  calm  that  stills  the  aspen  grove.1 

That  this  is  deep  in  our  nature,  I  felt  when  I  was  on 
Scaf ell.    I  involuntarily  poured  forth  a  hymn  2  in  the  man- 

1  These   lines  form  part  of  the  2  The  "  Hymn  before  Sunrise  in 

poem  addressed  "To  Matilda  Be-  the  Vale   of  Chamouni"  was  first 

tham.    From  a  Stranger."    The  date  printed  in  the  Morning  Post,  Septem- 

of   composition   was    September  9,  ber  11,  1802.     It  was  reprinted  in 

1802,   the    day    before    they    were  the  original  issue  of  The  Friend,  No. 

quoted   in   the   letter   to    Sotheby.  xi.  (October  16,  1809,  pp.  174-176), 

Poetical  Works,  p.  168.  and  again  in  Sibylline  Leaves,  1817. 


1802]  TO  W.   SOTHEBY  405 

ner  of  the  Psalms,  though  afterwards  I  thought  the  ideas, 
etc.,  disproportionate  to  our  humble  mountains.  .  .  .  You 
will  soon  see  it  in  the  "  Morning  Post,"  and  I  should  be 
glad  to  know  whether  and  how  far  it  pleased  you.  It 
has  struck  me  with  great  force  lately  that  the  Psalms 
afford  a  most  complete  answer  to  those  who  state  the 
Jehovah  of  the  Jews,  as  a  personal  and  national  God,  and 
the  Jews  as  differing  from  the  Greeks  only  in  calling  the 
minor  Gods  Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  and  confining  the 
word  "  God  "  only  to  their  Jupiter.  It  must  occur  to 
every  reader  that  the  Greeks  in  their  religious  poems 
address  always  the  Numina  Loci,  the  Genii,  the  Dryads, 
the  Naiads,  etc.,  etc.  All  natural  objects  were  dead,  mere 
hollow  statues,  but  there  was  a  Godkin  or  Goddessling 
included  in  each.  In  the  Hebrew  poetry  you  find  nothing 
of  this  poor  stuff,  as  poor  in  genuine  imagination  as  it  is 
mean  in  intellect.  At  best,  it  is  but  fancy,  or  the  aggre- 
gating faculty  of  the  mind,  not  imagination  or  the  modi- 
fying and  coadunating  faculty.  This  the  Hebrew  poets 
appear  to  me  to  have  possessed  beyond  all  others,  and 

As  De  Quincey  was  the  first  to  point  from  the  scenery  of  Westmoreland 

out,  Coleridge  was  indebted  to  the  and  Cumberland. 

Swiss  poetess,  Frederica  Bran,  for  He  was  but  twenty-six  when  he 

the  framework  of  the  poem  and  for  visited  Ottery  for  the  last  time.     It 

many  admirable   lines  and  images,  was  in  his  thirty-fifth  year  that  he 

but  it  was  his  solitary  walk  on  Sea-  bade   farewell   to  Stowey   and   the 

fell,  and  the  consequent  uplifting  of  Quantocks,  and  after  he  was  turned 

spirit,  which  enabled  him  ' '  to  create  forty  he  never  saw  Grasmere  or  Kes- 

the  dry  bones  of  the  German  out-  wick  again.     Ill  health  and  the  res 

line  into  the  fulness  of  life. "  angusta  domi  are  stern  gaolers,  but, 

Coleridge  will  never  lose  his  title  if  he  had  been  so  minded,  he  would 

of  a  Lake  Poet,  but  of  the  ten  years  have  found  a  way  to  revisit  the  pleas- 

during  which  he  was  nominally  resi-  ant  places  in  which  he  had  passed 

dent  in  the  Lake  District,  he  was  ab-  his  youth  and  early  manhood.      In 

sent  at  least  half  the  time.     Of  his  truth,  he  was  well  content  to  be  a 

greater  poems  there  are  but  four,  the  dweller  in  "  the  depths  of  the  huge 

second   part   of    "  Christabel,"    the  city"    or    its    outskirts,   and,    like 

"Dejection:    an  Ode,"   the   "Pic-  Lamb,  he  "could  not  live  in  Skid- 

ture,"  and  the  "  Hymn  before  Sun-  daw."     Poetical  Works,  p.  165,  and 

rise,"  which    take   their  colouring  Editor's  Note,  pp.  629,  630. 


406  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

next  to  them  the  English.  In  the  Hebrew  poets  each 
thing  has  a  life  of  its  own,  and  yet  they  are  all  our  life. 
In  God  they  move  and  live  and  have  their  being ;  not  had, 
as  the  cold  system  of  Newtonian  Theology  represents,  but 
have.  Great  pleasure  indeed,  my  dear  sir,  did  I  receive 
from  the  latter  part  of  your  letter.  If  there  be  any  two 
subjects  which  have  in  the  very  depths  of  my  nature 
interested  me,  it  has  been  the  Hebrew  and  Christian 
Theology,  and  the  Theology  of  Plato.  Last  winter  I 
read  the  Parmenides  and  the  Timaeus  with  great  care,  and 
oh,  that  you  were  here  —  even  in  this  howling  rainstorm 
that  dashes  itself  against  my  windows  —  on  the  other 
side  of  my  blazing  fire,  in  that  great  armchair  there  !  I 
guess  we  should  encroach  on  the  morning  ere  we  parted. 
How  little  the  commentators  of  Milton  have  availed 
themselves  of  the  writings  of  Plato,  Milton's  darling! 
But  alas,  commentators  only  hunt  out  verbal  parallelisms 
—  numen  abest.  I  was  much  impressed  with  this  in  all 
the  many  notes  on  that  beautiful  passage  in  "  Comus  " 
.  from  1.  629  to  641.  All  the  puzzle  is  to  find  out  what 
plant  Haemony  is  ;  which  they  discover  to  be  the  English 
spleenwort,  and  decked  out  as  a  mere  play  and  licence  of 
poetic  fancy  with  all  the  strange  properties  suited  to  the 
purpose  of  the  drama.  They  thought  little  of  Milton's 
platonizing  spirit,  who  wrote  nothing  without  an  interior 
meaning.  "  Where  more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear," 
is  true  of  himself  beyond  all  writers.  He  was  so  great  a 
man  that  he  seems  to  have  considered  fiction  as  profane 
unless  where  it  is  consecrated  by  being  emblematic  of 
some  truth.  What  an  unthinking  and  ignorant  man  we 
must  have  supposed  Milton  to  be,  if,  without  any  hidden 
meaning,  he  had  described  it  as  growing  in  such  abun- 
dance that  the  dull  swain  treads  on  it  daily,  and  yet  as 
never  flowering.  Such  blunders  Milton  of  all  others  was 
least  likely  to  commit.  Do  look  at  the  passage.  Apply 
it  as  an  allegory  of  Christianity,  or,  to  speak  more  pre- 


1802]  TO  W.   SOTHEBY  407 

cisely,  of  the  Kedemption  by  the  Cross,  every  syllable  is 
full  of  light !  "  A  small  unsightly  root."  —  "  To  the 
Greeks  folly,  to  the  Jews  a  stumbling-block  "  —  "  The  leaf 
was  darkish  and  had  prickles  on  it " —  "  If  in  this  life 
only  we  have  hope,  we  are  of  all  men  the  most  miserable," 
and  a  score  of  other  texts.  "  But  in  another  country,  as 
he  said,  Bore  a  bright  golden  flower  "  —  "  The  exceeding 
weight  of  glory  prepared  for  us  hereafter  "  —  "  But  not  in 
this  soil ;  Unknown  and  like  esteemed  and  the  dull  swain 
Treads  on  it  daily  with  his  clouted  shoon  "  -  The  prom- 
ises of  Redemption  offered  daily  and  hourly,  and  to  all, 
but  accepted  scarcely  by  any  —  "  He  called  it  Hcemony" 
Now  what  is  Haemony  ?  at/no,  olvos,  Blood-wine.  "  And 
he  took  the  wine  and  blessed  it  and  said,  '  This  is  my 
Blood,'  "  —  the  great  symbol  of  the  Death  on  the  Cross. 
There  is  a  general  ridicule  cast  on  all  allegorising  of 
poets.  Read  Milton's  prose  works,  and  observe  whether 
he  was  one  of  those  who  joined  in  this  ridicule.  There  is 
a  very  curious  passage  in  Josephus  [De  Bello  Jud.  6,  7, 
cap.  25  (vi.  §  3)]  which  is,  in  its  literal  meaning,  more 
wild  and  fantastically  absurd  than  the  passage  in  Milton ; 
so  much  so,  that  Lardner  quotes  it  in  exultation  and  says 
triumphantly,  "  Can  any  man  who  reads  it  think  it  any 
disparagement  to  the  Christian  Religion  that  it  was  not 
embraced  by  a  man  who  would  believe  such  stuff  as  this  ? 
God  forbid  that  it  should  affect  Christianity,  that  it  is  not 
believed  by  the  learned  of  this  world !  "  But  the  passage 
in  Josephus,  I  have  no  doubt,  is  wholly  allegorical. 

"Eo-Tj/cre  signifies    "  He  hath  stood," 1   which,    in   these 

1  Coleridge  must  have  presumed  in  proclaiming  his  unswerving  alle- 
on  the  ignorance  of  Sotheby  and  of  giance  to  fixed  principles.  The  in- 
his  friends  generally.  He  could  itials  S.  T.  C.,  Grecised  and  mis- 
hardly  have  passed  out  of  Boyer's  translated,  expressed  this  pleasing 
hands  without  having  learned  that  delusion,  and  the  Greek,  "  Punic 
*E(TTr)(76  signifies,  "  He  hath  placed,"  [sc.  punnic]  Greek,"  as  he  elsewhere 
not  "  He  hath  stood."  But,  like  calls  it,  might  run  the  risk  of  de- 
most  people  who  have  changed  their  tection. 
opinions,  he  took  an  especial  pride 


408  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

times  of  apostasy  from  the  principles  of  freedom  or  of 
religion  in  this  country,  and  from  both  by  the  same  per- 
sons in  France,  is  no  unmeaning  signature,  if  subscribed 
with  humility,  and  in  the  remembrance  of  "  Let  him  that 
stands  take  heed  lest  he  fall !  "  However,  it  is,  in  truth, 
no  more  than  S.  T.  C.  written  in  Greek  —  Es  tee  see. 

Pocklington  will  not  sell  his  house,  but  he  is  ill,  and 
perhaps  it  may  be  to  be  sold,  but  it  is  sunless  all  winter. 
God  bless  you,  and  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXXXI.     TO   THE   SAME. 

GRETA  HALL,  KESWICK,  Tuesday,  September  27,  1802. 
MY  DEAE  SIR,  —  The  river  is  full,  and  Lodore  is  full, 
and  silver-fillets  come  out  of  clouds  and  glitter  in  every 
ravine  of  all  the  mountains ;  and  the  hail  lies  like  snow, 
upon  their  tops,  and  the  impetuous  gusts  from  Borrow- 
dale  snatch  the  water  up  high,  and  continually  at  the 
bottom  of  the  lake  it  is  not  distinguishable  from  snow 
slanting  before  the  wind  —  and  under  this  seeming  snow- 
drift the  sunshine  gleams,  and  over  all  the  nether  half  of 
the  Lake  it  is  bright  and  dazzles,  a  cauldron  of  melted 
silver  boiling !  It  is  in  very  truth  a  sunny,  misty,  cloudy, 
dazzling,  howling,  omniform  day,  and  I  have  been  look- 
ing at  as  pretty  a  sight  as  a  father's  eyes  could  well  see  — 
Hartley  and  little  Derwent  running  in  the  green  where 
the  gusts  blow  most  madly,  both  with  their  hair  floating 
and  tossing,  a  miniature  of  the  agitated  trees,  below 
which  they  were  playing,  inebriate  both  with  the  pleas- 
ure —  Hartley  whirling  round  for  joy,  Derwent  eddying, 
half -willingly,  half  by  the  force  of  the  gust,  —  driven 
backward,  struggling  forward,  and  shouting  his  little 
hymn  of  joy.  I  can  write  thus  to  you,  my  dear  sir,  with 
a  confident  spirit ;  for  when  I  received  your  letter  on  the 
22nd,  and  had  read  the  "  family  history,"  I  laid  down 
the  sheet  upon  my  desk,  and  sate  for  half  an  hour  think- 
ing of  you,  dreaming  of  you,  till  the  tear  grown  cold 


1802]  TO  W.  SOTHEBY  409 

upon  my  cheek  awoke  me  from  my  reverie.  May  you 
live  long,  long,  thus  blessed  in  your  family,  and  often, 
often  may  you  all  sit  around  one  fireside.  Oh  happy 
should  I  be  now  and  then  to  sit  among  you  —  your  pilot 
and  guide  in  some  of  your  summer  walks  ! 

"  Frigidus  ut  sylvis  Aquilo  si  increverit,  aut  si 
Hiberni  pluviis  dependent  nubibus  imbres, 
Nos  habeat  domus,  et  multo  Lar  luceat  igne. 
Ante  focum  mini  parvus  erit,  qui  ludat,  lulus, 
Blanditias  f  erat,  et  nondum  constantia  verba  j 
Ipse  legam  magni  tecum  monumenta  Platonis  !  " 

Or,  what  would  be  still  better,  I  could  talk  to  you  (and,  if 
if  you  were  here  now,  to  an  accompaniment  of  winds  that 
would  well  suit  the  subject)  instead  of  writing  to  you  con- 
cerning your  "  Orestes."  When  we  talk  we  are  our  own 
living  commentary,  and  there  are  so  many  running  notes 
of  look,  tone,  and  gesture,  that  there  is  small  danger  of 
being  misunderstood,  and  less  danger  of  being  imperfectly 
understood  —  in  writing ;  but  no !  it  is  foolish  to  abuse  a 
good  substitute  because  it  is  not  all  that  the  original  is, — 
so  I  will  do  my  best  and,  believe  me,  I  consider  this  letter 
which  I  am  about  to  write  as  merely  an  exercise  of  my 
own  judgment  —  a  something  that  may  make  you  better 
acquainted,  perhaps,  with  the  architecture  and  furniture  of 
my  mind,  though  it  will  probably  convey  to  you  little  or 
nothing  that  had  not  occurred  to  you  before  respecting 
your  own  tragedy.  One  thing  I  beg  solicitously  of  you, 
that,  if  anywhere  I  appear  to  speak  positively,  you  will 
acquit  me  of  any  correspondent  feeling.  I  hope  that  it  is 
not  a  frequent  feeling  with  me  in  any  case,  and,  that  if  it 
appear  so,  I  am  belied  by  my  own  warmth  of  manner. 
In  the  present  instance  it  is  impossible.  I  have  been  too 
deeply  impressed  by  the  work,  and  I  am  now  about  to 
give  you,  not  criticisms  nor  decisions,  but  a  history  of  my 
impressions,  and,  for  the  greater  part,  of  my  first  impres- 
sions, and  if  anywhere  there  seem  anything  like  a  tone 


410 


A  LAKE  POET 


[Nov. 


of  warmth  or  dogmatism,  do,  my  dear  sir,  be  kind  enough 
to  regard  it  as  no  more  than  a  way  of  conveying  to  you 
the  whole  of  my  meaning ;  or,  for  I  am  writing  too  seri- 
ously, as  the  dexterous  toss,  necessary  to  turn  an  idea  out 
of  its  pudding-bag,  round  and  unbroken. 

[No  signature.] 

Several  pages  of  minute  criticisms  on  Sotheby's 
"  Orestes "  form  part  of  the  original  transcript  of  the 
letter. 

CXXXII.    TO   HIS   WIFE. 

ST.  CLEAK,  CAERMARTHEN,  Tuesday,  November  16,  1802. 
MY  DEAR  LOVE,  —  I  write  to  you  from  the  New 
Passage,  Saturday  morning,  November  13.  We  had  a  fa- 
vourable passage,  dined  on  the  other  side,  and  proceeded 
in  a  post-chaise  to  Usk,  and  from  thence  to  Abergavenny, 
where  we  supped  and  slept  and  breakfasted  —  a  vile 
supper,  vile  beds,  and  vile  breakfast.  From  Abergavenny 
to  Brecon,  through  the  vale  of  Usk,  I  believe,  nine- 
teen miles  of  most  delightful  country.  It  is  not  indeed 
comparable  with  the  meanest  part  of  our  Lake  Country, 
but  hills,  vale,  and  river,  cottages  and  woods  are  nobly 
blended,  and,  thank  Heaven,  I  seldom  permit  my  past 
greater  pleasures  to  lessen  my  enjoyment  of  present 
charms.  Of  the  things  which  this  nineteen  miles  has  in 
common  with  our  whole  vale  of  Keswick  (which  is  about 
nineteen  miles  long),  I  may  say  that  the  two  vales  and 
the  two  rivers  are  equal  to  each  other,  that  the  Keswick 
vale  beats  the  Welsh  one  all  hollow  in  cottages,  but  is  as 
much  surpassed  by  it  in  woods  and  timber  trees.  I  am 
persuaded  that  every  tree  in  the  south  of  England  has 
three  times  the  number  of  leaves  that  a  tree  of  the  same 
sort  and  size  has  in  Cumberland  or  Westmoreland,  and 
there  is  an  incomparably  larger  number  of  very  large 
trees.  Even  the  Scotch  firs  luxuriate  into  beauty  and 
pluminess,  and  the  larches  are  magnificent  creatures  in- 


1802]  TO  HIS  WIFE  411 

deed,  in  S.  Wales.  I  must  not  deceive  you,  however, 
with  all  the  advantages.  S.  Wales,  if  you  came  into  it 
with  the  very  pictures  of  Keswick,  Ulleswater,  Grasmere, 
etc.,  in  your  fancy,  and  were  determined  to  hold  them, 
and  S.  Wales  together  with  all  its  richer  fields,  woods, 
and  ancient  trees,  would  needs  appear  flat  and  tame  as 
ditchwater.  I  have  no  firmer  persuasion  than  this,  that 
there  is  no  place  in  our  island  (and,  saving  Switzer- 
land, none  in  Europe  perhaps),  which  really  equals  the 
vale  of  Keswick,  including  Borrowdale,  Newlands,  and 
Bassenthwaite.  O  Heaven !  that  it  had  but  a  more 
genial  climate  !  It  is  now  going  on  for  the  eighteenth 
week  since  they  have  had  any  rain  here,  more  than  a  few 
casual  refreshing  showers,  and  we  have  monopolized  the 
rain  of  the  whole  kingdom.  From  Brecon  to  Trecastle  — 
a  churchyard,  two  or  three  miles  from  Brecon,  is  belted 
by  a  circle  of  the  largest  and  noblest  yews  I  ever  saw  — 
in  a  belt,  to  wit ;  they  are  not  so  large  as  the  yew  in 
Borrowdale  or  that  in  Lorton,  but  so  many,  so  large  and 
noble,  I  never  saw  before  —  and  quite  glowing  with  those 
heavenly  -  coloured,  silky  -  pink  -  scarlet  berries.  From 
Trecastle  to  Llandovery,  where  we  found  a  nice  inn,  an 
excellent  supper,  and  good  beds.  From  Llandovery  to 
Llandilo  —  from  Llandilo  to  Caermarthen,  a  large  town  all 
whitewashed  —  the  roofs  of  the  houses  all  whitewashed ! 
a  great  town  in  a  confectioner's  shop,  on  Twelfth-cake- 
Day,  or  a  huge  snowpiece  at  a  distance.  It  is  nobly 
situated  along  a  hill  among  hills,  at  the  head  of  a  very 
extensive  vale.  From  Caermarthen  after  dinner  to  St. 
Clear,  a  little  hamlet  nine  miles  from  Caermarthen,  three 
miles  from  the  sea  (the  nearest  seaport  being  Llangan, 
pronounced  Lame,  on  Caermarthen  Bay  —  look  in  the 
map),  and  not  quite  a  hundred  miles  from  Bristol.  The 
country  immediately  round  is  exceedingly  bleak  and 
dreary — just  the  sort  of  country  that  there  is  around 
Shurton,  etc.  But  the  inn,  the  Blue  Boar,  is  the  most 


412  A  LAKE  POET  [Nov. 

comfortable  little  public-house  I  was  ever  in.  Miss  S. 
Wedgwood  left  us  this  morning  (we  arrived  here  at  half 
past  four  yesterday  evening)  for  Crescelly,  Mr.  Allen's 
seat  (the  Mrs.  Wedgwood's  father),  fifteen  miles  from 
this  place,  and  T.  Wedgwood  is  gone  out  cock-shooting, 
in  high  glee  and  spirits.  He  is  very  much  better  than  I 
expected  to  have  found  him  —  he  says,  the  thought  of  my 
coming,  and  my  really  coming  so  immediately,  has  sent  a 
new  life  into  him.  He  will  be  out  all  the  mornings. 
The  evenings  we  chat,  discuss,  or  I  read  to  him.  To  me 
he  is  a  delightful  and  instructive  companion.  He  pos- 
sesses the  finest,  the  subtlest  mind  and  taste  I  have  ever 
yet  met  with.  His  mind  resembles  that  miniature  in  my 
"Three  Graves z"1- 

A  small  blue  sun !  and  it  has  got 

A  perfect  glory  too  ! 
Ten  thousand  hairs  of  colour'd  light, 
Make  up  a  glory  gay  and  bright, 

Round  that  small  orb  so  blue ! 

I  continue  in  excellent  health,  compared  with  my  state 
at  Keswick.  ...  I  have  now  left  off  beer  too,  and  will 
persevere  in  it.  I  take  no  tea ;  in  the  morning  coffee, 
with  a  teaspoonf ul  of  ginger  in  the  last  cup ;  in  the  after- 
noon a  large  cup  of  ginger-tea,  and  I  take  ginger  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  noon,  and  a  glass  after  supper.  I  find  not  the 
least  inconvenience  from  any  quantity,  however  large.  I 
dare  say  I  take  a  large  table-spoonful  in  the  course  of  the 
twenty-four  hours,  and  once  in  the  twenty-four  hours  (but 
not  always  at  the  same  time)  I  take  half  a  grain  of  puri- 

1  Parts  HDL  and  IV.  of  the  "  Three  "  A  small  blue  sun  "  became  ' '  A  tiny 

Graves  "  were  first  published  in  The  sun,"  and  for  "  Ten  thousand  hairs 

Friend,  No.  vi.  Sept.  21, 1809.    Parts  of  colour'd  light  "   Coleridge   sub- 

I.  and  II.  were  published  for  the  first  stituted  "  Ten  thousand   hairs   and 

time  in  The  Poetical  Works  of  Samuel  threads    of    light."       See    Poetical 

Taylor  Coleridge,  Macmillan,  1893.  Works,  p.  92,  and  Editor's  Note,  pp. 

The  final  version  of  this  stanza  (11.  589-591. 
509-513)  differs  from  that  in  the  text. 


1802]  TO  HIS  WIFE  413 

fied  opium,  equal  to  twelve  drops  of  laudanum,  which  is 
not  more  than  an  eighth  part  of  what  I  took  at  Keswick, 
exclusively  of  beer,  brandy,  and  tea,  which  last  is  un- 
doubtedly a  pernicious  thing  —  all  which  I  have  left  off, 
and  will  give  this  regimen  a  fair,  complete  trial  of  one 
month,  with  no  other  deviation  than  that  I  shall  some- 
times lessen  the  opiate,  and  sometimes  miss  a  day.  But 
I  am  fully  convinced,  and  so  is  T.  Wedgwood,  that  to 
a  person  with  such  a  stomach  and  bowels  as  mine,  if  any 
stimulus  is  needful,  opium  in  the  small  quantities  I  now 
take  it  is  incomparably  better  in  every  respect  than  beer, 
wine,  spirits,  or  any  fermented  liquor,  nay,  far  less  per- 
nicious than  even  tea.  It  is  my  particular  wish  that 
Hartley  and  Derwent  should  have  as  little  tea  as  possi- 
ble, and  always  very  weak,  with  more  than  half  milk. 
Read  this  sentence  to  Mary,  and  to  Mrs.  Wilson.  I 
should  think  that  ginger-tea,  with  a  good  deal  of  milk 
in  it,  would  be  an  excellent  thing  for  Hartley.  A  tea- 
spoonful  piled  up  of  ginger  would  make  a  potful  of  tea, 
that  would  serve  him  for  two  days.  And  let  him  drink 
it  half  milk.  I  dare  say  that  he  would  like  it  very  well, 
for  it  is  pleasant  with  sugar,  and  tell  him  that  his  dear 
father  takes  it  instead  of  tea,  and  believes  that  it  will 
make  his  dear  Hartley  grow.  The  whole  kingdom  is 
getting  ginger-mad.  My  dear  love  !  I  have  said  nothing 
of  Italy,  for  I  am  as  much  in  the  dark  as  when  I  left 
Keswick,  indeed  much  more.  For  I  now  doubt  very 
much  whether  we  shall  go  or  no.  Against  our  going  you 
must  place  T.  W.'s  improved  state  of  health,  and  his  ex- 
ceeding dislike  to  continental  travelling,  and  horror  of 
the  sea,  and  his  exceeding  attachment  to  his  family ;  for 
our  going,  you  must  place  his  past  experience,  the  tran- 
siency of  his  enjoyments,  the  craving  after  change,  and 
the  effect  of  a  cold  winter,  especially  if  it  should  come  on 
wet  or  sleety.  His  determinations  are  made  so  rapidly, 
that  two  or  three  days  of  wet  weather  with  a  raw  cold  air 


414  A  LAKE  POET  [DEC. 

might  have  such  an  effect  on  his  spirits,  that  he  might 
go  off  immediately  to  Naples,  or  perhaps  for  Teneriffe, 
which  latter  place  he  is  always  talking  about.  Look  out 
for  it  in  the  Encyclopedia.  Again,  these  latter  causes 
make  it  not  impossible  that  the  pleasure  he  has  in  me  as 
a  companion  may  languish.  I  must  subscribe  myself  in 
haste, 

Your  dear  husband,  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

The  mail  is  waiting. 

CXXXIII.    TO  THE  REV.   J.   P.   ESTLIN. 

CKESCELLY,  near  Narbarth,  Pembrokeshire, 
December  7,  1802. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  took  the  liberty  of  desiring 
Mrs.  Coleridge  to  direct  a  letter  for  me  to  you,  fully 
expecting  to  have  seen  you  ;  but  I  passed  rapidly  through 
Bristol,  and  left  it  with  Mr.  Wedgwood  immediately  — 
I  literally  had  no  time  to  see  any  one.  I  hope,  however, 
to  see  you  on  my  return,  for  I  wish  very  much  to  have 
some  hours'  conversation  with  you  on  a  subject  that  will 
not  cease  to  interest  either  of  us  while  we  live  at  least, 
and  I  trust  that  is  a  synonym  of  "  for  ever  !  "  .  .  .  Have 
you  seen  my  different  essays  in  the  "  Morning  Post "  ? J  — 
the  comparison  of  Imperial  Rome  and  France,  the  "  Once 
a  Jacobin,  always  a  Jacobin,"  and  the  two  letters  to  Mr. 
Fox  ?  Are  my  politics  yours  ? 

Have  you  heard  lately  from  America  ?  A  gentleman 
informed  me  that  the  progress  of  religious  Deism  in  the 
middle  Provinces  is  exceedingly  rapid,  that  there  are 
numerous  congregations  of  Deists,  etc.,  etc.  Would  to 
Heaven  this  were  the  case  in  France  !  Surely,  religious 
Deism  is  infinitely  nearer  the  religion  of  our  Saviour  than 
the  gross  idolatry  of  Popery,  or  the  more  decorous,  but 
not  less  genuine,  idolatry  of  a  vast  majority  of  Protest- 

1  The  six  essays  to  which  he  calls  Essays  on  His  Own  Times,  ii.  478- 
Estlin's  attention  are  reprinted  in  585. 


1802]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  415 

ants.  If  there  be  meaning  in  words,  it  appears  to  me 
that  the  Quakers  and  Unitarians  are  the  only  Christians, 
altogether  pure  from  Idolatry,  and  even  of  these  I  am 
sometimes  jealous,  that  some  of  the  Unitarians  make  too 
much  an  Idol  of  their  one  God.  Even  the  worship  of 
one  God  becomes  Idolatry  in  my  convictions,  when,  in- 
stead of  the  Eternal  and  Omnipresent,  in  whom  we  live 
and  move  and  have  our  Being,  we  set  up  a  distinct  Jeho- 
vah, tricked  out  in  the  anthropomorphic  attributes  of 
Time  and  successive  Thoughts,  and  think  of  him  as  a 
Person,  from  whom  we  had  our  Being.  The  tendency 
to  Idolatry  seems  to  me  to  lie  at  the  root  of  all  our 
human  vices  —  it  is  our  original  Sin.  When  we  dismiss 
three  Persons  in  the  Deity,  only  by  subtracting  two,  we 
talk  more  intelligibly,  but,  I  fear,  do  not  feel  more  reli- 
giously —  for  God  is  a  Spirit,  and  must  be  worshipped  in 
spirit. 

O  my  dear  sir!  it  is  long  since  we  have  seen  each 
other  —  believe  me,  my  esteem  and  grateful  affection  for 
you  and  Mrs.  Estlin  has  suffered  no  abatement  or  inter- 
mission —  nor  can  I  persuade  myself  that  my  opinions, 
fully  stated  and  fully  understood,  would  appear  to  you 
to  differ  essentially  from  your  own.  My  creed  is  very 
simple  —  my  confession  of  Faith  very  brief.  I  approve 
altogether  and  embrace  entirely  the  Religion  of  the 
Quakers,  but  exceedingly  dislike  the  sect,  and  their  own 
notions  of  their  own  Religion.  By  Quakerism  I  under- 
stand the  opinions  of  George  Fox  rather  than  those  of 
Barclay  —  who  was  the  St.  Paul  of  Quakerism.  —  I  pray 
for  you  and  yours  ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXXXIV.    TO   ROBERT   SOUTHEY. 

Christmas  Day,  1802. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  arrived  at  Keswick  with  T. 
Wedgwood  on  Friday  afternoon,  that  is  to  say,  yester- 


416  A  LAKE  POET  [JAN. 

day,  and  had  the  comfort  to  find  that  Sara  was  safely 
brought  to  bed,  the  morning  before,  that  is  on  Thursday, 
half-past  six,  of  a  healthy  GIRL.  I  had  never  thought 
of  a  girl  as  a  possible  event ;  the  words  child  and  man- 
child  were  perfect  synonyms  in  my  feelings.  However,  I 
bore  the  sex  with  great  fortitude,  and  she  shall  be  called 
Sara.  Both  Mrs.  Coleridge  and  the  Coleridgiella  are  as 
well  as  can  be.  I  left  the  little  one  sucking  at  a  great 
rate.  Derwent  and  Hartley  are  both  well. 

I  was  at  Cote l  in  the  beginning  of  November,  and  of 
course  had  calculated  on  seeing  you,  and,  above  all,  on 
seeing  little  Edith's  physiognomy,  among  the  certain 
things  of  my  expedition,  but  I  had  no  sooner  arrived  at 
Cote  than  I  was  forced  to  quit  it,  T.  Wedgwood  having 
engaged  to  go  into  Wales  with  his  sister.  I  arrived  at 
Cote  in  the  afternoon,  and  till  late  evening  did  not  know  or 
conjecture  that  we  were  to  go  off  early  in  the  next  morn- 
ing. I  do  not  say  this  for  you,  —  you  must  know  how 
earnestly  I  yearn  to  see  you,  —  but  for  Mr.  Estlin,  who 
expressed  himself  wounded  by  the  circumstance.  When 
you  see  him,  therefore,  be  so  good  as  to  mention  this  to 
him.  I  was  much  affected  by  Mrs.  Coleridge's  account 
of  your  health  and  eyes.  God  have  mercy  on  us !  We 
are  all  sick,  all  mad,  all  slaves !  It  is  a  theory  of  mine 
that  virtue  and  genius  are  diseases  of  theTiypochondriacal 
and  scrofulous  genera,  and  exist  in  a  peculiar  state  of  the 
nerves  and  diseased  digestion,  analogous  to  the  beautiful 
diseases  that  colour  and  variegate  certain  trees.  How- 
ever, I  add,  by  way  of  comfort,  that  it  is  my  faith  that 
the  virtue  and  genius  produce  the  disease,  not  the  disease 
the  virtue,  etc.,  though  when  present  it  fosters  them. 
Heaven  knows,  there  are  fellows  who  have  more  vices 
than  scabs,  and  scabs  countless,  with  fewer  ideas  than 
plaisters.  As  to  my  own  health  it  is  very  indifferent.  I 
am  exceedingly  temperate  in  everything,  abstain  wholly 

1  The  residence  of  Josiah  Wedgwood. 


1803]  TO  THOMAS  WEDGWOOD  417 

from  wine,  spirits,  or  fermented  liquors,  almost  wholly 
from  tea,  abjure  all  fermentable  and  vegetable  food,  bread 
excepted,  and  use  that  sparingly ;  live  almost  entirely  on 
eggs,  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  and  thus  contrive  not  to  be  ill. 
But  well  I  am  not,  and  in  this  climate  never  shall  be.  A 
deeply  ingrained  though  mild  scrofula  is  diffused  through 
me,  and  is  a  very  Proteus.  I  am  fully  determined  to  try 
Teneriffe  or  Gran  Canaria,  influenced  to  prefer  them  to 
Madeira  solely  by  the  superior  cheapness  of  living.  The 
climate  and  country  are  heavenly,  the  inhabitants  Pa- 
pishes,  all  of  whom  I  would  burn  with  fire  and  faggot, 
for  what  did  n't  they  do  to  us  Christians  under  bloody 
Queen  Mary  ?  Oh  the  Devil  sulphur-roast  them !  I 
would  have  no  mercy  on  them,  unless  they  drowned  all 
their  priests,  and  then,  spite  of  the  itch  (which  they  have 
in  an  inveterate  degree,  rich  and  poor,  gentle  and  simple, 
old  and  young,  male  and  female),  would  shake  hands 
with  them  ungloved. 

By  way  of  one  impudent  half  line  in  this  meek  and 
mild  letter  —  will  you  go  with  me?  "I"  and  "you" 
mean  mine  and  yours,  of  course.  Remember  you  are  to 
give  me  Thomas  Aquinas  and  Scotus  Erigena. 

God  bless  you  and  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

I  can  have  the  best  letters  and  recommendation.  My 
love  and  their  sisters  to  Mary  and  Edith,  and  if  you  see 
Mrs.  Fricker,  be  so  good  as  to  tell  her  that  she  will  hear 
from  me  or  Sara  in  the  course  of  ten  days. 

CXXXV.    TO   THOMAS   WEDGWOOD. 

[The  text  of  this  letter,  which  was  first  published  in 
Cottle's  "Reminiscences,"  1849,  p.  450,  has  been  collated 

with  that  of  the  original.] 

KESWICK,  January  9,  1803. 

MY  DEAR  WEDGWOOD,  —  I  send  you  two  letters, 
one  from  your  dear  sister,  the  second  from  Sharp,  by 


418  A  LAKE  POET  [JAN. 

which  you  will  see  at  what  short  notice  I  must  be  off,  if  I 
go  to  the  Canaries.  If  your  last  plan  continue  in  full 
force  in  your  mind,  of  course  I  have  not  even  the  phantom 
of  a  wish  thitherward  struggling,  but  if  aught  have  hap- 
pened to  you,  in  the  things  without,  or  in  the  world  within, 
to  induce  you  to  change  the  plan  in  itself,  or  the  plan 
relatively  to  me,  I  think  I  could  raise  the  money,  at  all 
events,  and  go  and  see.  But  I  would  a  thousand-fold 
rather  go  with  you  whithersoever  you  go.  I  shall  be 
anxious  to  hear  how  you  have  gone  on  since  I  left  you. 
Should  you  decide  in  favour  of  a  better  climate  some- 
where or  other,  the  best  scheme  I  can  think  of  is  that  in 
some  part  of  Italy  or  Sicily  which  we  both  liked.  I 
would  look  out  for  two  houses.  Wordsworth  and  his 
family  would  take  the  one,  and  I  the  other,  and  then  you 
might  have  a  home  either  with  me,  or,  if  you  thought  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Luff,  under  this  modification,  one  of  your 
own ;  and  in  either  case  you  would  have  neighbours,  and 
so  return  to  England  when  the  homesickness  pressed 
heavy  upon  you,  and  back  to  Italy  when  it  was  abated, 
and  the  climate  of  England  began  to  poison  your  com- 
forts. So  you  would  have  abroad,  in  a  genial  climate,  cer- 
tain comforts  of  society  among  simple  and  enlightened 
men  and  women ;  and  I  should  be  an  alleviation  of  the 
pang  which  you  will  necessarily  feel,  always,  as  often  as 
you  quit  your  own  family. 

I  know  no  better  plan :  for  travelling  in  search  of 
objects  is,  at  best,  a  dreary  business,  and  whatever  excite- 
ment it  might  have  had,  you  must  have  exhausted  it. 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend.  I  write  with  dim  eyes, 
for  indeed,  indeed,  my  heart  is  very  full  of  affectionate 
sorrowful  thoughts  toward  you. 

I  found  Mrs.  Coleridge  not  so  well  as  I  expected,  but 
she  is  better  to-day  —  and  I,  myself,  write  with  difficulty, 
with  all  the  fingers  but  one  of  my  right  hand  very  much 
swollen.  Before  I  was  half  up  JKirkstone  the  storm  had 


1803]  TO  THOMAS  WEDGWOOD  419 

wetted  me  through  and  through,  and  before  I  reached  the 
top  it  was  so  wild  and  outrageous,  that  it  would  have  been 
unmanly  to  have  suffered  the  poor  woman  (guide)  to  con- 
tinue pushing  on,  up  against  such  a  torrent  of  wind  and 
rain;  so  I  dismounted  and  sent  her  home  with  the  storm 
to  her  back.  I  am  no  novice  in  mountain  mischiefs,  but 
such  a  storm  as  this  was  I  never  witnessed,  combining  the 
intensity  of  the  cold  with  the  violence  of  the  wind  and 
rain.  The  rain-drops  were  pelted  or,  rather,  slung  against 
my  face  by  the  gusts,  just  like  splinters  of  flint,  and  I  felt 
as  if  every  drop  cut  my  flesh.  My  hands  were  all  shrivelled 
up  like  a  washerwoman's,  and  so  benumbed  that  I  was 
obliged  to  carry  my  stick  under  my  arm.  Oh,  it  was  a  wild 
business  !  Such  hurry-skurry  of  clouds,  such  volleys  of 
sound !  In  spite  of  the  wet  and  the  cold,  I  should  have 
had  some  pleasure  in  it  but  for  two  vexations :  first,  an 
almost  intolerable  pain  came  into  my  right  eye,  a  smart- 
ing and  burning  pain ;  and  secondly,  in  consequence  of 
riding  with  such  cold  water  under  my  seat,  extremely  un- 
easy and  burthensome  feelings  attacked  my  groin,  so  that, 
what  with  the  pain  from  the  one,  and  the  alarm  from  the 
other,  I  had  no  enjoyment  at  all ! 

Just  at  the  brow  of  the  hill  I  met  a  man  dismounted, 
who  could  not  sit  on  horseback.  He  seemed  quite 
scared  by  the  uproar,  and  said  to  me,  with  much  feeling, 
"  Oh,  sir,  it  is  a  perilous  buffeting,  but  it  is  worse  for  you 
than  for  me,  for  I  have  it  at  my  back."  However  I  got 
safely  over,  and,  immediately,  all  was  calm  and  breath- 
less, as  if  it  was  some  mighty  fountain  just  on  the  summit 
of  Kirkstone,  that  shot  forth  its  volcano  of  air,  and  pre- 
cipitated huge  streams  of  invisible  lava  down  the  road  to 
Patterdale. 

I  went  on  to  Grasmere.  I  was  not  at  all  unwell  when 
I  arrived  there,  though  wet  of  course  to  the  skin.  My 
right  eye  had  nothing  the  matter  with  it,  either  to  the  sight 
of  others,  or  to  my  own  feelings,  but  I  had  a  bad  night, 


420  A  LAKE  POET  [APRIL 

with  distressful  dreams,  chiefly  about  my  eye  ;  and  awaking 
often  in  the  dark  I  thought  it  was  the  effect  of  mere  recol- 
lection, but  it  appeared  in  the  morning  that  my  right  eye 
was  bloodshot,  and  the  lid  swollen.  That  morning,  how- 
ever, I  walked  home,  and  before  I  reached  Keswick  my 
eye  was  quite  well,  but  I  felt  unwell  all  over.  Yesterday 
I  continued  unusually  unwell  all  over  me  till  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening.  I  took  no  laudanum  or  opium,  but  at 
eight  o'clock,  unable  to  bear  the  stomach  uneasiness  and 
aching  of  my  limbs,  I  took  two  large  teaspoonsfull  of 
ether  in  a  wine-glass  of  camphorated  gum  water,  and  a 
third  teaspoonfull  at  ten  o'clock,  and  I  received  complete 
relief,  —  my  body  calmed,  my  sleep  placid,  —  but  when  I 
awoke  in  the  morning  my  right  hand,  with  three  of  the 
fingers,  was  swollen  and  inflamed.  .  .  .  This  has  been  a 
very  rough  attack,  but  though  I  am  much  weakened  by 
it,  and  look  sickly  and  haggard,  yet  I  am  not  out  of  heart. 
Such  a  bout,  such  a  "  perilous  buffeting,"  was  enough  to 
have  hurt  the  health  of  a  strong  man.  Few  constitutions 
can  bear  to  be  long  wet  through  in  intense  cold.  I  fear 
it  will  tire  you  to  death  to  read  this  prolix  scrawled 
story,  but  my  health,  I  know,  interests  you.  Do  continue 
to  send  me  a  few  lines  by  the  market  people  on  Friday  — 
I  shall  receive  it  on  Tuesday  morning. 

Affectionately,  dear  friend,  yours  ever, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

[Addressed  "  T.  Wedgwood,  Esq.,  C.  Luff's  Esq.,  Glenridding, 
Ulleswater.] 

CXXXVI.     TO    HIS   WIFE. 

[LONDON],  Monday,  April  4,  1803. 

MY  DEAR  SARA,  —  I  have  taken  my  place  for  Wednes- 
day night,  and,  barring  accidents,  shall  arrive  at  Penrith 
on  Friday  noon.  If  Friday  be  a  fine  morning,  that  is, 
if  it  do  not  rain,  you  will  get  Mr.  Jackson  to  send  a  lad 
with  a  horse  or  pony  to  Penruddock.  The  boy  ought  to 


1803]  TO  HIS  WIFE  421 

be  at  Penruddock  by  twelve  o'clock  that  his  horse  may 
bait  and  have  a  feed  of  corn.  But  if  it  be  rain,  there  is 
no  choice  but  that  I  must  take  a  chaise.  At  all  events,  if 
it  please  God,  I  shall  be  with  you  by  Friday,  five  o'clock, 
at  the  latest.  You  had  better  dine  early.  I  shall  take 
an  egg  or  two  at  Penrith  and  drink  tea  at  home.  For 
more  than  a  fortnight  we  have  had  burning  July  weather. 
The  effect  on  my  health  was  manifest,  but  Lamb  ob- 
jected, very  sensibly,  "  How  do  you  know  what  part  may 
not  be  owing  to  the  excitement  of  bustle  and  company  ?  " 
On  Friday  night  I  was  unwell  and  restless,  and  uneasy  in 
limbs  and  stomach,  though  I  had  been  extremely  regular. 
I  told  Lamb  on  Saturday  morning  that  I  guessed  the 
weather  had  changed.  But  there  was  no  mark  of  it ;  it 
was  hotter  than  ever.  On  Saturday  evening  my  right 
knee  and  both  my  ankles  swelled  and  were  very  painful ; 
and  within  an  hour  after  there  came  a  storm  of  wind  and 
rain.  It  continued  raining  the  whole  night.  Yesterday 
it  was  a  fine  day,  but  cold ;  to-day  the  same,  but  I  am  a 
great  deal  better,  and  the  swelling  in  my  ankle  is  gone 
down  and  that  in  my  right  knee  much  decreased.  Lamb 
observed  that  he  was  glad  he  had  seen  all  this  with  his 
own  eyes  ;  he  now  knew  that  my  illness  was  truly  linked 
with  the  weather,  and  no  whim  or  restlessness  of  disposi- 
tion in  me.  It  is  curious,  but  I  have  found  that  the 
weather-glass  changed  on  Friday  night,  the  very  hour 
that  I  found  myself  unwell.  I  will  try  to  bring  down 
something  for  Hartley,  though  toys  are  so  outrageously 
dear,  and  I  so  short  of  money,  that  I  shall  be  puzzled. 

To-day  I  dine  again  with  Sotheby.  He  had  informed 
me  that  ten  gentlemen  who  have  met  me  at  his  house 
desired  him  to  solicit  me  to  finish  the  "  Christabel,"  and 
to  permit  them  to  publish  it  for  me ;  and  they  engaged 
that  it  should  be  in  paper,  printing,  and  decorations  the 
most  magnificent  thing  that  had  hitherto  appeared.  Of 
course  I  declined  it.  The  lovely  lady  shan't  come  to 


422  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

that  pass !  Many  times  rather  would  I  have  it  printed  at 
Soulby's  on  the  true  ballad  paper.  However,  it  was 
civil,  and  Sotheby  is  very  civil  to  me. 

I  had  purposed  not  to  speak  of  Mary  Lamb,  but  I  had 
better  write  it  than  tell  it.  The  Thursday  before  last  she 
met  at  Rickman's  a  Mr.  Babb,  an  old  friend  and  admirer 
of  her  mother.  The  next  day  she  smiled  in  an  ominous 
way ;  on  Sunday  she  told  her  brother  that  she  was  get- 
ting bad,  with  great  agony.  On  Tuesday  morning  she 
laid  hold  of  me  with  violent  agitation  and  talked  wildly 
about  George  Dyer.  I  told  Charles  there  was  not  a 
moment  to  lose ;  and  I  did  not  lose  a  moment,  but  went 
for  a  hackney-coach  and  took  her  to  the  private  mad- 
house at  Hugsden.  She  was  quite  calm,  and  said  it  was 
the  best  to  do  so.  But  she  wept  bitterly  two  or  three 
times,  yet  all  in  a  calm  way.  Charles  is  cut  to  the  heart. 
You  will  send  this  note  to  Grasmere  or  the  contents  of  it, 
though,  if  I  have  time,  I  shall  probably  write  myself  to 
them  to-day  or  to-morrow. 

Yours  affectionately,  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXXXVII.  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 

KESWICK,  Wednesday,  July  2,  1803. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  You  have  had  much  illness  as 
well  as  I,  but  I  thank  God  for  you,  you  have  never  been 
equally  diseased  in  voluntary  power  with  me.  I  knew 
a  lady  who  was  seized  with  a  sort  of  asthma  which  she 
knew  would  be  instantly  relieved  by  a  dose  of  ether. 
She  had  the  full  use  of  her  limbs,  and  was  not  an  arm's- 
length  from  the  bell,  yet  could  not  command  voluntary 
power  sufficient  to  pull  it,  and  might  have  died  but  for 
the  accidental  coming  in  of  her  daughter.  From  such  as 
these  the  doctrines  of  materialism  and  mechanical  neces- 
sity have  been  deduced ;  and  it  is  some  small  argument 
against  the  truth  of  these  doctrines  that  I  have  perhaps 
had  a  more  various  experience,  a  more  intuitive  know- 


1803]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  423 

ledge  of  such  facts  than  most  men,  and  yet  I  do  not 
believe  these  doctrines.  My  health  is  middling.  If  this 
hot  weather  continue,  I  hope  to  go  on  endurably,  and  oh, 
for  peace !  for  I  forbode  a  miserable  winter  in  this  coun- 
try. Indeed,  I  am  rather  induced  to  determine  on  win- 
tering in  Madeira,  rather  than  staying  at  home.  I  have 
enclosed  ten  pounds  for  Mrs.  Fricker.  Tell  her  I  wish  it 
were  in  my  power  to  increase  this  poor  half  year's  mite  ; 
but  ill  health  keeps  me  poor.  Bella  is  with  us,  and 
seems  likely  to  recover.  I  have  not  seen  the  "  Edinburgh 
Review."  The  truth  is  that  Edinburgh  is  a  place  of  lit- 
erary gossip,  and  even  /  have  had  my  portion  of  puff  there, 
and  of  course  my  portion  of  hatred  and  envy.  One  man 
puffs  me  up  —  he  has  seen  and  talked  with  me  ;  another 
hears  him,  goes  and  reads  my  poems,  written  when  almost 
a  boy,  and  candidly  and  logically  hates  me,  because  he  does 
not  admire  my  poems,  in  the  proportion  in  which  one  of 
his  acquaintance  had  admired  me.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
whether  these  reviewers  do  you  harm  or  good. 

You  read  me  at  Bristol  a  very  interesting  piece  of 
casuistry  from  Father  Somebody,  the  author,  I  believe,  of 
the  "  Theatre  Critic,"  respecting  a  double  infant.  If  you 
do  not  immediately  want  it,  or  if  my  using  it  in  a  book 
of  logic,  with  proper  acknowledgment,  will  not  interfere 
with  your  use  of  it,  I  should  be  extremely  obliged  to  you 
if  you  would  send  it  me  without  delay.  I  rejoice  to 
hear  of  the  progress  of  your  History.  The  only  thing  I 
dread  is  the  division  of  the  European  and  Colonial  His- 
tory. In  style  you  have  only  to  beware  of  short,  biblical, 
and  pointed  periods.  Your  general  style  is  delightfully 
natural  and  yet  striking. 

You  may  expect  certain  explosions  in  the  "  Morning 
Post,"  Coleridge  'versus  Fox,  in  about  a  week.  It  grieved 
me  to  hear  (for  I  have  a  sort  of  affection  for  the  man) 
from  Sharp,  that  Fox  had  not  read  my  two  letters,  but 
had  heard  of  them,  and  that  they  were  mine,  and  had 


424  A  LAKE  POET  [JULY 

expressed  himself  more  wounded  by  the  circumstance 
than  anything  that  had  happened  since  Burke's  business. 
Sharp  told  this  to  Wordsworth,  and  told  Wordsworth 
that  he  had  been  so  affected  by  Fox's  manner,  that  he 
himself  had  declined  reading  the  two  letters.  Yet  Sharp 
himself  thinks  my  opinions  right  and  true;  but  Fox  is 
not  to  be  attacked,  and  why?  Because  he  is  an  amiable 
man ;  and  not  by  me,  because  he  had  thought  highly  of 
me,  etc.,  etc.  O  Christ !  this  is  a  pretty  age  in  the  arti- 
cle morality !  When  I  cease  to  love  Truth  best  of  all 
things,  and  Liberty  the  next  best,  may  I  cease  to  live  : 
nay,  it  is  my  creed  that  I  should  thereby  cease  to  live,  for 
as  far  as  anything  can  be  called  probable  in  a  subject  so 
dark,  it  seems  to  me  most  probable  that  our  immortality 
is  to  be  a  work  of  our  own  hands. 

All  the  children  are  well,  and  love  to  hear  Bella  talk 
of  Margaret.  Love  to  Edith  and  to  Mary  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

I  have  received  great  delight  and  instruction  from 
Scotus  Erigena.  He  is  clearly  the  modern  founder  of 
the  school  of  Pantheism ;  indeed  he  expressly  defines  the 
divine  nature  as  quce  Jit  et  facit,  et  creat  et  creatur  ;  and 
repeatedly  declares  creation  to  be  manifestation,  the 
epiphany  of  philosophers.  The  eloquence  with  which  he 
writes  astonished  me,  but  he  had  read  more  Greek  than 
Latin,  and  was  a  Platonist  rather  than  an  Aristotelian. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  omne  meus  oculus  in  the  notion 
of  the  dark  ages,  etc.,  taken  intensively ;  in  extension  it 
might  be  true.  They  had  wells:  we  are  flooded  ankle 
high:  and  what  comes  of  it  but  grass  rank  or  rotten? 
Our  age  eats  from  that  poison-tree  of  knowledge  yclept 
"  Too-Much  and  Too-Little."  Have  you  read  Paley's  last 
book  ? J  Have  you  it  to  review  ?  I  could  make  a  dashing 
review  of  it. 

1  Paley's  last  work,  "  Natural  Theology;  or,  Evidences  of  the  Existence 


1803]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  425 

CXXXVIII.     TO    THE   SAME. 

KESWICK,  July,  1803. 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  -  ...  I  write  now  to  propose  a 
scheme,1  or  rather  a  rude  outline  of  a  scheme,  of  your  grand 
work.  What  harm  can  a  proposal  do  ?  If  it  be  no  pain 
to  you  to  reject  it,  it  will  be  none  to  me  to  have  it  rejected. 
I  would  have  the  work  entitled  Bibliotheca  Britannica,  or 
an  History  of  British  Literature,  bibliographical,  biograph- 
ical, and  critical.  The  two  last  volumes  I  would  have  to 
be  a  chronological  catalogue  of  all  noticeable  or  extant 
books  ;  the  others,  be  the  number  six  or  eight,  to  consist 
entirely  of  separate  treatises,  each  giving  a  critical  biblio- 
biographical  history  of  some  one  subject.  I  will,  with 
great  pleasure,  join  you  in  learning  Welsh  and  Erse  ;  and 
you,  I,  Turner,  and  Owen,2  might  dedicate  ourselves  for 
the  first  half-year  to  a  complete  history  of  all  Welsh, 
Saxon,  and  Erse  books  that  are  not  translations  that  are 
the  native  growth  of  Britain.  If  the  Spanish  neutrality 
continues,  I  will  go  in  October  or  November  to  Biscay, 
and  throw  light  on  the  Basque. 

Let  the  next  volume  contain  the  history  of  English 
poetry  and  poets,  in  which  I  would  include  all  prose  truly 
poetical.  The  first  half  of  the  second  volume  should  be 
dedicated  to  great  single  names,  Chaucer  and  Spenser, 
Shakespeare,  Milton  and  Taylor,  Dry  den  and  Pope ;  the 
poetry  of  witty  logic,  —  Swift,  Fielding,  Richardson, 
Sterne ;  I  write  par  hasard,  but  I  mean  to  say  all  great 
names  as  have  either  formed  epochs  in  our  taste,  or  such, 
at  least,  as  are  representative ;  and  the  great  object  to  be 

and  Attributes  of  A  Deity,  col-  2  Southey's  correspondence  con- 
lee  ted  from  the  Appearances  of  Na-  tains  numerous  references  to  the 
ture,"  was  published  in  1802.  historian  Sharon  Turner  [1768- 
1  For  Southey's  well  known  re-  1847],  and  to  William  Owen,  the 
joinder  to  this  "  ebullience  of  sche-  translator  of  the  Mabinogion  and 
matism,"  see  Life  and  Correspond-  author  of  the  Welsh  Paradise  Lost, 
ence,  ii.  220-223. 


426  A  LAKE  POET  [Auo. 

in  each  instance  to  determine,  first,  the  true  merits  and 
demerits  of  the  books  ;  secondly,  what  of  these  belong  to 
the  age  —  what  to  the  author  quasi  peculium.  The  second 
half  of  the  second  volume  should  be  a  history  of  poetry 
and  romances,  everywhere  interspersed  with  biography, 
but  more  flowing,  more  consecutive,  more  bibliographical, 
chronological,  and  complete.  The  third  volume  I  would 
have  dedicated  to  English  prose,  considered  as  to  style,  as 
to  eloquence,  as  to  general  impressiveness ;  a  history  of 
styles  and  manners,  their  causes,  their  birth-places  and 
parentage,  their  analysis.  .  .  . 

These  three  volumes  would  be  so  generally  interesting, 
so  exceedingly  entertaining,  that  you  might  bid  fair  for 
a  sale  of  the  work  at  large.  Then  let  the  fourth  volume 
take  up  the  history  of  metaphysics,  theology,  medicine, 
alchemy,  common  canon,  and  Roman  law,  from  Alfred  to 
Henry  VII. ;  in  other  words,  a  history  of  the  dark  ages  in 
Great  Britain  :  the  fifth  volume  —  carry  on  metaphysics 
and  ethics  to  the  present  day  in  the  first  half ;  the  second 
half,  comprise  the  theology  of  all  the  reformers.  In  the 
fourth  volume  there  would  be  a  grand  article  on  the 
philosophy  of  the  theology  of  the  Roman  Catholic  reli- 
gion ;  in  this  (fifth  volume),  under  different  names,  — 
Hooker,  Baxter,  Biddle,  and  Fox,  —  the  spirit  of  the  the- 
ology of  all  the  other  parts  of  Christianity.  The  sixth  and 
seventh  volumes  must  comprise  all  the  articles  you  can 
get,  on  all  the  separate  arts  and  sciences  that  have  been 
treated  of  in  books  since  the  Reformation ;  and,  by  this 
time,  the  book,  if  it  answered  at  all,  would  have  gained  so 
high  a  reputation  that  you  need  not  fear  having  whom  you 
liked  to  write  the  different  articles  —  medicine,  surgery, 
chemistry,  etc.,  etc.,  navigation,  travellers,  voyagers,  etc., 
etc.  If  I  go  into  Scotland,  shall  I  engage  Walter  Scott 
to  write  the  history  of  Scottish  poets  ?  Tell  me,  however, 
what  you  think  of  the  plan.  It  would  have  one  prodigious 
advantage:  whatever  accident  stopped  the  work,  would 


1803]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  427 

only  prevent  the  future  good,  not  mar  the  past ;  each  vol- 
ume would  be  a  great  and  valuable  work  per  se.  Then 
each  volume  would  awaken  a  new  interest,  a  new  set  of 
readers,  who  would  buy  the  past  volumes  of  course ;  then 
it  would  allow  you  ample  time  and  opportunities  for  the 
slavery  of  the  catalogue  volumes,  which  should  be  at  the 
same  time  an  index  to  the  work,  which  would  be  in  very 
truth  a  pandect  of  knowledge,  alive  and  swarming  with 
human  life,  feeling,  incident.  By  the  bye,  what  a  strange 
abuse  has  been  made  of  the  word  encyclopaedia !  It  sig- 
nifies properly,  grammar,  logic,  rhetoric,  and  ethics,  and 
metaphysics,  which  last,  explaining  the  ultimate  principle 
of  grammar  —  log.  —  rhet.,  and  eth.  —  formed  a  circle  of 
knowledge.  ...  To  call  a  huge  unconnected  miscellany 
of  the  omne  scibile,  in  an  arrangement  determined  by  the 
accident  of  initial  letters,  an  encyclopaedia  is  the  impudent 
ignorance  of  your  Presbyterian  book-makers.  Good  night ! 
God  bless  you!  S.  T.  C. 

CXXXIX.    TO   THE   SAME. 

KESWICK,  Sunday,  August  7,  1803. 

(Eead  the  last  lines  first ;  I  send  you  this  letter  merely 
to  show  you  how  anxious  I  have  been  about  your  work.) 

MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  The  last  three  days  I  have 
been  fighting  up  against  a  restless  wish  to  write  to  you. 
I  am  afraid  lest  I  should  infect  you  with  my  fears  rather 
than  furnish  you  with  any  new  arguments,  give  you  im- 
pulses rather  than  motives,  and  prick  you  with  spurs  that 
had  been  dipped  in  the  vaccine  matter  of  my  own  coward- 
liness. While  I  wrote  that  last  sentence,  I  had  a  vivid  rec- 
ollection, indeed  an  ocular  spectrum,  of  our  room  in  College 
Street,  a  curious  instance  of  association.  You  remember 
how  incessantly  in  that  room  I  used  to  be  compounding 
these  half-verbal,  half -visual  metaphors.  It  argues,  I  am 
persuaded,  a  particular  state  of  general  feeling,  and  I 


428  A  LAKE  POET  [Auo. 

hold  that  association  depends  in  a  much  greater  degree  on 
the  recurrence  of  resembling  states  of  feeling  than  on 
trains  of  ideas,  that  the  recollection  of  early  childhood  in 
latest  old  age  depends  on  and  is  explicable  by  this,  and  if 
this  be  true,  Hartley's  system  totters.  If  I  were  asked 
how  it  is  that  very  old  people  remember  visually  only  the 
events  of  early  childhood,  and  remember  the  intervening 
spaces  either  not  at  all  or  only  verbally,  I  should  think  it 
a  perfectly  philosophical  answer  that  old  age  remembers 
childhood  by  becoming  "  a  second  childhood  I  "  This 
explanation  will  derive  some  additional  value  if  you  would 
look  into  Hartley's  solution  of  the  phenomena  —  how  flat, 
how  wretched !  Believe  me,  Southey !  a  metaphysical  so- 
lution, that  does  not  instantly  tell  you  something  in  the 
heart  is  grievously  to  be  suspected  as  apocryphal.  I  al- 
most think  that  ideas  never  recall  ideas,  as  far  as  they  are 
ideas,  any  more  than  leaves  in  a  forest  create  each  other's 
motion.  The  breeze  it  is  that  runs  through  them  —  it  is 
the  soul,  the  state  of  feeling.  If  I  had  said  no  one 
idea  ever  recalls  another,  I  am  confident  that  I  could  sup- 
port the  assertion.  And  this  is  a  digression.  —  My  dear 
Southey,  again  and  again  I  say,  that  whatever  your  plan 
may  be,  I  will  contrive  to  work  for  you  with  equal  zeal 
if  not  with  equal  pleasure.  But  the  arguments  against 
your  plan  weigh  upon  me  the  more  heavily,  the  more  I 
reflect ;  and  it  could  not  be  otherwise  than  that  I  should 
feel  a  confirmation  of  them  from  Wordsworth's  complete 
coincidence  —  I  having  requested  his  deliberate  opinion 
without  having  communicated  an  iota  of  my  own.  You 
seem  to  me,  dear  friend,  to  hold  the  dearness  of  a  scarce 
work  for  a  proof  that  the  work  would  have  a  general  sale, 
if  not  scarce.  Nothing  can  be  more  fallacious  than  this. 
Burton's  Anatomy  used  to  sell  for  a  guinea  to  two  guineas. 
It  was  republished.  Has  it  paid  the  expense  of  reprint- 
ing? Scarcely.  Literary  history  informs  us  that  most 
of  those  great  continental  bibliographies,  etc.,  were  pub- 


1803]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  429 

lished  by  the  munificence  of  princes,  or  nobles,  or  great 
monasteries.  A  book  from  having  had  little  or  no  sale, 
except  among  great  libraries,  may  become  so  scarce  that 
the  number  of  competitors  for  it,  though  few,  may  be 
proportionally  very  great.  I  have  observed  that  great 
works  are  nowadays  bought,  not  for  curiosity  or  the 
amor  proprius,  but  under  the  notion  that  they  contain  all 
the  knowledge  a  man  may  ever  want,  and  if  he  has  it  on 
his  shelf  why  there  it  is,  as  snug  as  if  it  were  in  his  brain. 
This  has  carried  off  the  encyclopaedia,  and  will  continue 
to  do  so.  I  have  weighed  most  patiently  what  you  said 
respecting  the  persons  and  classes  likely  to  purchase  a 
catalogue  of  all  British  books.  I  have  endeavoured  to 
make  some  rude  calculation  of  their  numbers  according 
to  your  own  numeration  table,  and  it  falls  very  short  of 
an  adequate  number.  Your  scheme  appears  to  be  in 
short  faulty,  (1)  because,  everywhere,  the  generally  unin- 
teresting, the  catalogue  part  will  overlay  the  interesting 
parts ;  (2)  because  the  first  volume  will  have  nothing  in 
it  tempting  or  deeply  valuable,  for  there  is  not  time  or 
room  for  it ;  (3)  because  it  is  impossible  that  any  one  of 
the  volumes  can  be  executed  as  well  as  they  would  other- 
wise be  from  the  to-and-fro,  now  here,  now  there  motion 
of  the  mind,  and  employment  of  the  industry.  Oh  how  I 
wish  to  be  talking,  not  writing,  for  my  mind  is  so  full 
that  my  thoughts  stifle  and  jam  each  other.  And  I  have 
presented  them  as  shapeless  jellies,  so  that  I  am  ashamed 
of  what  I  have  written  —  it  so  imperfectly  expresses  what 
I  meant  to  have  said.  My  advice  certainly  would  be, 
that  at  all  events  you  should  make  some  classification. 
Let  all  the  law  books  form  a  catalogue  per  se,  and  so 
forth ;  otherwise  it  is  not  a  book  of  reference,  without  an 
index  half  as  large  as  the  work  itself.  I  see  no  well- 
founded  objection  to  the  plan  which  I  first  sent.  The 
two  main  advantages  are  that,  stop  where  you  will,  you 
are  in  harbour,  you  sail  in  an  archipelago  so  thickly 


430  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

clustered,  (that)  at  each  island  you  take  in  a  completely 
new  cargo,  and  the  former  cargo  is  in  safe  housage ;  and 
(2dly)  that  each  labourer  working  by  the  piece,  and  not 
by  the  day,  can  give  an  undivided  attention  in  some  in- 
stances for  three  or  four  years,  and  bring  to  the  work  the 
whole  weight  of  his  interest  and  reputation.  .  .  .  An 
encyclopaedia  appears  to  me  a  worthless  monster.  What 
surgeon,  or  physician,  professed  student  of  pure  or  mixed 
mathematics,  what  chemist  or  architect,  would  go  to  an 
encyclopaedia  for  his  books  ?  If  valuable  treatises  exist 
on  these  subjects  in  an  encyclopaedia,  they  are  out  of  their 
place  —  an  equal  hardship  on  the  general  reader,  who  pays 
for  whole  volumes  which  he  cannot  read,  and  on  the  pro- 
fessed student  of  that  particular  subject,  who  must  buy  a 
great  work  which  he  does  not  want  in  order  to  possess  a 
valuable  treatise,  which  he  might  otherwise  have  had  for 
six  or  seven  shillings.  You  omit  those  things  only  from 
your  encyclopaedia  which  are  excrescences  —  each  volume 
will  set  up  the  reader,  give  him  at  once  connected  trains  of 
thought  and  facts,  and  a  delightful  miscellany  for  lounge- 
reading.  Your  treatises  will  be  long  in  exact  proportion 
to  their  general  interest.  Think  what  a  strange  confusion 
it  will  make,  if  you  speak  of  each  book,  according  to  its 
date,  passing  from  an  Epic  Poem  to  a  treatise  on  the 
treatment  of  sore  legs  ?  Nobody  can  become  an  enthu- 
siast in  favour  of  the  work.  ...  A  great  change  of  weather 
has  come  on,  heavy  rain  and  wind,  and  I  have  been  very 
ill,  and  still  I  am  in  uncomfortable  restless  health.  I  am 
not  even  certain  whether  I  shall  not  be  forced  to  put  off 
my  Scotch  tour ;  but  if  I  go,  I  go  on  Tuesday.  I  shall 
not  send  off  this  letter  till  this  is  decided. 

God  bless  you  and  S.  T.  C. 


1803]  TO   HIS  WIFE  431 

CXL.     TO   HIS    WIFE. 

Friday  afternoon,  4  o'clock,  Sept.  (1),  [1803]. 
MY  DEAR  SARA,  —  I  write  from  the  Ferry  of  Ballater. 
.  .  .  This  is  the  first  post  since  the  day  I  left  Glasgow. 
We  went  thence  to  Dumbarton  (look  at  Stoddart's  tour, 
where  there  is  a  very  good  view  of  Dumbarton  Rock  and 
Tower),  thence  to  Loch  Lomond,  and  a  single  house  called 
Luss  —  horrible  iuhospitality  and  a  fiend  of  a  landlady ! 
Thence  eight  miles  up  the  Lake  to  E.  Tarbet,  where  the 
lake  is  so  like  Ulleswater  that  I  could  scarcely  see  the 
difference  ;  crossed  over  the  lake  and  by  a  desolate  moor- 
land walked  to  another  lake,  Loch  Katrine,  up  to  a  place 
called  Trossachs,  the  Borrowdale  of  Scotland,  and  the 
only  thing  which  really  beats  us.  You  must  conceive  the 
Lake  of  Keswick  pushing  itself  up  a  mile  or  two  into 
Borrowdale,  winding  round  Castle  Crag,  and  in  and  out 
among  all  the  nooks  and  promontories,  and  you  must  im- 
agine all  the  mountains  more  detachedly  built  up,  a  gen- 
eral dislocation ;  every  rock  its  own  precipice,  with  trees 
young  and  old.  This  will  give  you  some  faint  idea  of  the 
place,  of  which  the  character  is  extreme  intricacy  of  effect 
produced  by  very  simple  means.  One  rocky,  high  island, 
four  or  five  promontories,  and  a  Castle  Crag,  just  like  that 
in  the  gorge  of  Borrowdale,  but  not  so  large.  It  rained  all 
the  way,  all  the  long,  long  day.  We  slept  in  a  hay-loft, — 
that  is,  Wordsworth,  I,  and  a  young  man  who  came  in  at 
the  Trossachs  and  joined  us.  Dorothy  had  a  bed  in  the 
hovel,  which  was  varnished  so  rich  with  peat  smoke  an 
apartment  of  highly  polished  [oak]  would  have  been  poor 
to  it  —  it  would  have  wanted  the  metallic  lustre  of  the 
smoke-varnished  rafters.  This  was  [the  pleasantest] 
evening  I  had  spent  since  my  tour;  for  Wordsworth's 
hypochondriacal  feelings  keep  him  silent  and  self-centred. 
The  next  day  it  still  was  rain  and  rain ;  the  ferry-boat 
was  out  for  the  preaching,  and  we  stayed  all  day  in  the 


432 


A  LAKE    POET 


[SEPT. 


ferry  wet  to  the  skin.  Oh,  such  a  wretched  hovel !  But 
two  Highland  lassies,1  who  kept  house  in  the  absence  of 
the  ferryman  and  his  wife,  were  very  kind,  and  one  of 
them  was  beautiful  as  a  vision,  and  put  both  Dorothy  and 
me  in  mind  of  the  Highland  girl  in  William's  "Peter 
Bell."2  We  returned  to  E.  Tarbet,  I  with  the  rheumatism 
in  my  head.  And  now  William  proposed  to  me  to  leave 
them  and  make  my  way  on  foot  to  Loch  Katrine,  the 
Trossachs,  whence  it  is  only  twenty  miles  to  Stirling, 
where  the  coach  runs  through  to  Edinburgh.  He  and 
Dorothy  resolved  to  fight  it  out.  I  eagerly  caught  at  the 
proposal ;  for  the  sitting  in  an  open  carriage  in  the  rain 
is  death  to  me,  and  somehow  or  other  I  had  not  been  quite 
comfortable.  So  on  Monday  I  accompanied  them  to  Ar- 
rochar,  on  purpose  to  see  the  Cobbler  which  had  impressed 

the  hilly  field,  and  long  heard  ere 
seen,  a  melancholy  voice  calling  to 
his  cattle !  nor  the  beautiful  har- 
mony of  the  heath,  and  the  dancing 
fern,  and  the  ever-moving  birches. 
That  of  itself  enough  to  make  Scot- 
land visitable,  its  fields  of  heather 
giving  a  sort  of  shot  silk  finery  in 
the  apotheosis  of  finery.  On  Mon- 
day we  went  to  Arrochar.  Here  I 
left  W.  and  D.  and  returned  myself 
to  E.  Tarbet,  slept  there,  and  now, 
Tuesday,  Aug.  30,  1803,  am  to  make 
my  own  way  to  Edinburgh." 

Many  years  after  he  added  the 
words :  "  O  Esteese,  that  thou  hadst 
from  thy  22nd  year  indeed  made  thy 
own  way  and  alone  !  " 


1  It  may  be  interesting  to  com- 
pare the  following  unpublished  note 
from  Coleridge's  Scotch  Journal 
with  the  well  known  passage  in 
Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  of 
her  tour  in  the  Highlands  (Memoir  of 
Wordsworth,  i.  235) :  "  Next  morn- 
ing we  went  in  the  boat  to  the  end  of 
the  lake,  and  so  on  by  the  old  path 
to  the  Garrison  to  the  Ferry  House 
by  Loch  Lomond,  where  now  the  Fall 
was  in  all  its  fury,  and  formed  with 
the  Ferry  cottage,  and  the  sweet 
Highland  lass,  a  nice  picture.  The 
boat  gone  to  the  preaching  we  stayed 
all  day  in  the  comfortless  hovel, 
comfortless,  but  the  two  little  lassies 
did  everything  with  such  sweetness, 
and  one  of  them,  14,  with  such  na- 
tive elegance.  Oh !  she  was  a  divine 
creature !  The  sight  of  the  boat, 
full  of  Highland  men  and  women 
and  children  from  the  preaching,  ex- 
quisitely fine.  We  soon  reached  E. 
Tarbet  —  all  the  while  rain.  Never, 
never  let  me  forget  that  small  herd- 
boy  in  his  tartan-plaid,  dim-seen  on 


2  A  sweet  and  playful  Highland  girl, 
As  light  and  beauteous  as  a  squirrel, 
As  beauteous  and  as  wild ! 

Her  dwelling  was  a  lonely  house, 
A  cottage  in  a  heathy  dell ; 
And  she  put  on  her  gown  of  green 
And  left  her  mother  at  sixteen, 
And  followed  Peter  Bell. 

Peter  Sell,  Part  III. 


1803]  TO  HIS  WIFE  433 

me  so  much  in  Mr.  Wilkinson's  drawings ;  and  there  I 
parted  with  them,  having  previously  sent  on  all  my  things 
to  Edinburgh  by  a  Glasgow  carrier  who  happened  to  be 
at  E.  Tarbet.  The  worst  thing  was  the  money.  They 
took  twenty-nine  guineas,  and  I  six  —  all  our  remaining 
cash.  I  returned  to  E.  Tarbet ;  slept  there  that  night ; 
the  next  day  walked  to  the  very  head  of  Loch  Lomond  to 
Glen  Falloch,  where  I  slept  at  a  cottage-inn,  two  degrees 
below  John  Stanley's  (but  the  good  people  were  very 
kind),  — meaning  from  hence  to  go  over  the  mountains  to 
the  head  of  Loch  Katrine  again;  but  hearing  from  the 
gude  man  of  the  house  that  it  was  40  miles  to  Glencoe 
(of  which  I  had  formed  an  idea  from  Wilkinson's  draw- 
ings), and  having  found  myself  so  happy  alone  (such 
blessing  is  there  in  perfect  liberty  !)  I  walked  off.  I  have 
walked  forty-five  miles  since  then,  and,  except  during  the 
last  mile,  I  am  sure  I  may  say  I  have  not  met  with  ten 
houses.  For  eighteen  miles  there  are  but  two  habitations ! 
and  all  that  way  I  met  no  sheep,  no  cattle,  only  one  goat ! 
All  through  moorlands  with  huge  mountains,  some  craggy 
and  bare,  but  the  most  green,  with  deep  pinky  channels 
worn  by  torrents.  Glencoe  interested  me,  but  rather  dis- 
appointed me.  There  was  no  supenncumbency  of  crag, 
and  the  crags  not  so  bare  or  precipitous  as  I  had  expected. 
I  am  now  going  to  cross  the  ferry  for  Fort  William,  for  I 
have  resolved  to  eke  out  my  cash  by  all  sorts  of  self-denial, 
and  to  walk  along  the  whole  line  of  the  Forts.  I  am  un- 
fortunately shoeless ;  there  is  no  town  where  I  can  get  a 
pair,  and  I  have  no  money  to  spare  to  buy  them,  so  I  ex- 
pect to  enter  Perth  barefooted.  I  burnt  my  shoes  in  drying 
them  at  the  boatman's  hovel  on  Loch  Katrine,  and  I  have 
by  this  means  hurt  my  heel.  Likewise  my  left  leg  is  a 
little  inflamed,  and  the  rheumatism  in  the  right  of  my 
head  afflicts  me  sorely  when  I  begin  to  grow  warm  in  my 
bed,  chiefly  my  right  eye,  ear,  cheek,  and  the  three  teeth ; 
but,  nevertheless,  I  am  enjoying  myself,  having  Nature 


434  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

with  solitude  and  liberty  —  the  liberty  natural  and  solitary, 
the  solitude  natural  and  free  !  But  you  must  contrive  some- 
how or  other  to  borrow  ten  pounds,  or,  if  that  cannot  be, 
five  pounds,  for  me,  and  send  it  without  delay,  directed 
to  me  at  the  Post  Office,  Perth.  I  guess  I  shall  be  there 
in  seven  days  or  eight  at  the  furthest ;  and  your  letter  will 
be  two  days  getting  thither  (counting  the  day  you  put  it 
into  the  office  at  Keswick  as  nothing)  ;  so  you  must  calcu- 
late, and  if  this  letter  does  not  reach  you  in  time,  that  is, 
within  five  days  from  the  date  hereof,  you  must  then  direct 
to  Edinburgh.  I  will  make  five  pounds  do  (you  must 
borrow  of  Mr.  Jackson),  and  I  must  beg  my  way  for  the 
last  three  or  four  days !  It  is  useless  repining,  but  if  I 
had  set  off  myself  in  the  Mail  for  Glasgow  or  Stirling, 
and  so  gone  by  foot,  as  I  am  now  doing,  I  should  have 
saved  twenty-five  pounds;  but  then  Wordsworth  would 
have  lost  it. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  you  or  my  dear  children.  God 
bless  us  all !  I  have  but  one  untried  misery  to  go  through, 
the  loss  of  Hartley  or  Derwent,  ay,  or  dear  little  Sara! 
In  my  health  I  am  middling.  While  I  can  walk  twenty- 
four  miles  a  day,  with  the  excitement  of  new  objects,  I 
can  support  myself  ;  but  still  my  sleep  and  dreams  are  dis- 
tressful, and  I  am  hopeless.  I  take  no  opiates  .  .  .  nor 
have  I  any  temptation ;  for  since  my  disorder  has  taken 
this  asthmatic  turn  opiates  produce  none  but  positively 
unpl[easant  effects]. 

[No  signature.] 
MRS.  COLERIDGE, 

Greta  Hall,  Keswick,  Cumberland,  S.  Britain. 

CXLI.  TO  EGBERT  SOUTHEY. 

[EDINBURGH],  Sunday  night,  9  o'clock,  September  10,  1803. 

MY  DEAREST  SOUTHEY,  —  I  arrived  here  half  an  hour 
ago,  and  have  only  read  your  letters  —  scarce  read  them. 
—  O  dear  friend !  it  is  idle  to  talk  of  what  I  feel  —  I  am 


1803]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  435 

stunned  at  present  by  this  beginning  to  write,  making  a 
beginning  of  living  feeling  within  me.  Whatever  com- 
fort I  can  be  to  you  I  will  —  I  have  no  aversions,  no 
dislikes  that  interfere  with  you  —  whatever  is  necessary 
or  proper  for  you  becomes  ipso  facto  agreeable  to  me. 
I  will  not  stay  a  day  in  Edinburgh  —  or  only  one  to  hunt 
out  my  clothes.  I  cannot  chitchat  with  Scotchmen  while 
you  are  at  Keswick,  childless ! l  Bless  you,  my  dear 
Southey !  I  will  knit  myself  far  closer  to  you  than  I 
have  hitherto  done,  and  my  children  shall  be  yours  till 
it  please  God  to  send  you  another. 

I  have  been  a  wild  journey,  taken  up  for  a  spy  and 
clapped  into  Fort  Augustus,  and  I  am  afraid  they  may 
[have]  frightened  poor  Sara  by  sending  her  off  a  scrap 
of  a  letter  I  was  writing  to  her.  I  have  walked  263  miles 
in  eight  days,  so  I  must  have  strength  somewhere,  but  my 
spirits  are  dreadful,  owing  entirely  to  the  horrors  of  every 
night  —  I  truly  dread  to  sleep.  It  is  no  shadow  with 
me,  but  substantial  misery  foot-thick,  that  makes  me 
sit  by  my  bedside  of  a  morning  and  cry.  —  I  have  aban- 
doned all  opiates,  except  ether  be  one  .  .  .  And  when 
you  see  me  drink  a  glass  of  spirit-and-water,  except  by 
prescription  of  a  physician,  you  shall  despise  me,  —  but 
still  I  cannot  get  quiet  rest. 

When  on  my  bed  my  limbs  I  lay, 

It  hath  not  been  my  use  to  pray 

With  moving  lips  or  bended  knees  ; 

But  silently,  by  slow  degrees, 
s  My  spirit  I  to  Love  compose, 

In  humble  trust  my  eyelids  close, 

With  reverential  resignation, 

No  wish  conceiv'd,  no  thought  exprest, 

Only  a  Sense  of  supplication, 
10  A  Sense  o'er  all  my  soul  imprest 

1  Margaret  Southey,  who  was  born  in  September,  1802,  died  in  the'  latter 
part  of  August,  1803. 


436  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

That  I  am  weak,  yet  not  unblest, 
Since  round  me,  in  me,  everywhere 
Eternal  strength  and  Goodness  are  !  — 

But  yester-night  I  pray'd  aloud 
is  In  anguish  and  in  agony, 

Awaking  from  the  fiendish  crowd 

Of  shapes  and  thoughts  that  tortur'd  me  ! 

Desire  with  loathing  strangely  mixt, 

On  wild  or  hateful  objects  fixt. 
20  Sense  of  revenge,  the  powerless  will, 

Still  baffled  and  consuming  still ; 

Sense  of  intolerable  wrong, 

And  men  whom  I  despis'd  made  strong  ! 

Vain  glorious  threats,  unmanly  vaunting, 
25  Bad  men  my  boasts  and  fury  taunting ; 

Rage,  sensual  passion,  mad'ning  Brawl, 

And  shame  and  terror  over  all ! 

Deeds  to  be  hid  that  were  not  hid, 

Which  all  confus'd  I  might  not  know, 
so  Whether  I  suffer'd  or  I  did  : 

For  all  was  Horror,  Guilt,  and  Woe, 

My  own  or  others  still  the  same, 

Life-stifling  Fear,  soul-stifling  Shame ! 

Thus  two  nights  pass'd :  the  night's  dismay 
85  Sadden'd  and  stunn'd  the  boding  day. 

I  fear'd  to  sleep :  Sleep  seemed  to  be 

Disease's  worst  malignity. 

The  third  night,  when  my  own  loud  scream 

Had  freed  me  from  the  fiendish  dream, 
*)  O'ercome  by  sufferings  dark  and  wild, 

I  wept  as  I  had  been  a  child  ; 

And  having  thus  by  Tears  subdued 

My  Trouble  to  a  milder  mood, 

Such  punishments,  I  thought,  were  due 
46  To  Natures,  deepliest  stain'd  with  Sin ; 

Still  to  be  stirring  up  anew 

The  self-created  Hell  within, 


1803]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  437 

The  Horror  of  the  crimes  to  view, 

To  know  and  loathe,  yet  wish  to  do  ! 
so  With  such  let  fiends  make  mockery  — 

But  I  —  Oh,  wherefore  this  on  me  ? 

Frail  is  my  soul,  yea,  strengthless  wholly, 

Unequal,  restless,  melancholy ; 

But  free  from  Hate  and  sensual  Folly ! 
55  To  live  belov'd  is  all  I  need, 

And  whom  I  love,  I  love  indeed, 
And  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.1 

I  do  not  know  how  I  came  to  scribble  down  these 
verses  to  you  —  my  heart  was  aching,  my  head  all  con- 
fused—  but  they  are,  doggerel  as  they  may  be,  a  true 
portrait  of  my  nights.  What  to  do,  I  am  at  a  loss ;  for 
it  is  hard  thus  to  be  withered,  having  the  faculties  and 
attainments  which  I  have.  We  will  soon  meet,  and  I 
will  do  all  I  can  to  console  poor  Edith.  —  O  dear,  dear 
Southey !  my  head  is  sadly  confused.  After  a  rapid 
walk  of  thirty-three  miles  your  letters  have  had  the  effect 
of  perfect  intoxication  in  my  head  and  eyes.  Change ! 
change !  change  !  O  God  of  Eternity !  When  shall  we  be 
at  rest  in  thee  ? 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

CXLII.    TO  THE   SAME. 

EDINBURGH,  Tuesday  morning,  September  13,  1803. 
MY  DEAR  SOUTHEY,  —  I  wrote  you  a  strange  letter,  I 
fear.  But,  in  truth,  yours  affected  my  wretched  stomach, 
and  my  head,  in  such  a  way  that  I  wrote  mechanically  in 
the  wake  of  the  first  vivid  idea.  No  conveyance  left  or 
leaves  this  place  for  Carlisle  earlier  than  to-morrow  morn- 

1  The  "  Pains  of  Sleep  "  was  pub-  not  materially  differ  from  the  pub- 
lished for  the  first  time,  together  with  lished  version.  A  transcript  of  the 
"  Christabel "  and  "  Kubla  Khan,"  in  same  poem  was  sent  to  Poole  in  a 
1816.  With  the  exception  of  the  letter  dated  October  3, 1803.  Poetical 
insertion  of  the  remarkable  lines  52-  Works,  p.  170,  and  Editor's  Note,  pp. 
54,  the  first  draft  of  the  poem  does  631,  632. 


438  A  LAKE  POET  [SEPT. 

ing,  for  which  I  have  taken  my  place.  If  the  coachman 
do  not  turn  Panaceist,  and  cure  all  my  ills  by  breaking  my 
neck,  I  shall  be  at  Carlisle  on  Wednesday,  midnight,  and 
whether  I  shall  go  on  in  the  coach  to  Penrith,  and  walk 
from  thence,  or  walk  off  from  Carlisle  at  once,  depends  on 
two  circumstances,  first,  whether  the  coach  goes  on  with 
no  other  than  a  common  bait  to  Penrith,  and  secondly, 
whether,  if  it  should  not  do  so,  I  can  trust  my  clothes, 
etc.,  to  the  coachman  safely,  to  be  left  at  Penrith.  There 
is  but  eight  miles  difference  in  the  walk,  and  eight  or  nine 
shillings  difference  in  the  expense.  At  all  events,  I  trust 
that  I  shall  be  with  you  on  Thursday  by  dinner  time,  if  you 
dine  at  half -past  two  or  three  o'clock.  God  bless  you !  I  will 
go  and  call  on  Elmsley.1  What  a  wonderful  city  Edin- 
burgh 2  is !  What  alternation  of  height  and  depth !  A 
city  looked  at  in  the  polish'd  back  of  a  Brobdingnag  spoon 
held  lengthways,  so  enormously  stretched-up  are  the  houses ! 
When  I  first  looked  down  on  it,  as  the  coach  drove  up  on 
the  higher  street,  I  cannot  express  what  I  felt  —  such  a 
section  of  wasps'  nests  striking  you  with  a  sort  of  bastard 
sublimity  from  the  enormity  and  infinity  of  its  littleness  — 
the  infinity  swelling  out  the  mind,  the  enormity  striking 
it  with  wonder.  I  think  I  have  seen  an  old  plate  of  Mont- 
serrat  that  struck  me  with  the  same  feeling,  and  I  am  sure 
I  have  seen  huge  quarries  of  lime  and  free  stone  in  which 
the  shafts  or  strata  stood  perpendicularly  instead  of  hori- 

1  The   Rev.   Peter    Elmsley,   the  letter  to  Wynn,  dated  October  20, 
well  known  scholar,  who  had  been  1805 :  "  You  cross  a  valley  (once  a 
a    school    and    college    friend     of  loch)  by  a  high  bridge,  and  the  back 
Southey's,  was  at  this  time  resident  of  the  old  city  appears  on  the  edge 
at  Edinburgh.     The  Edinburgh  He-  of  this  depth  —  so  vast,  so  irregular 
view  had  been  founded  the  year  be-  —  with  such  an  outline  of  roofs  and 
fore,  and  Elmsley  was   among   the  chimneys,  that  it  looks  like  the  ruins 
earliest  contributors.     His  name  fre-  of  a  giant's  palace.    I  never  saw  any- 
quently  recurs   in   Southey's  corre-  thing  so  impressive  as  the  first  sight 
spondence.  of  this ;  there  was  a  wild  red  sunset 

2  Compare  Southey's  first  impres-  slanting  along  it."     Selections  from 
sions  of  Edinburgh,  contained  in  a  the  Letters  of  R.  Southey,  i.  342. 


1803]  TO  ROBERT  SOUTHEY  439 

zontally  with  the  same  high  thin  slices  and  corresponding 
interstices.  I  climbed  last  night  to  the  crags  just  below 
Arthur's  Seat  —  itself  a  rude  triangle-shaped-base  cliff,  and 
looked  down  on  the  whole  city  and  firth  —  the  sun  then 
setting  behind  the  magnificent  rock,  crested  by  the  cas- 
tle. The  firth  was  full  of  ships,  and  I  counted  fifty-four 
heads  of  mountains,  of  which  at  least  forty-four  were  cones 
or  pyramids.  The  smoke  was  rising  from  ten  thousand 
houses,  each  smoke  from  some  one  family.  It  was  an 
affecting  sight  to  me  !  I  stood  gazing  at  the  setting  sun, 
so  tranquil  to  a  passing  look,  and  so  restless  and  vibrating 
to  one  who  looked  stedfast ;  and  then,  all  at  once,  turning 
my  eyes  down  upon  the  city,  it  and  all  its  smokes  and  fig- 
ures became  all  at  once  dipped  in  the  brightest  blue-purple  : 
such  a  sight  that  I  almost  grieved  when  my  eyes  recovered 
their  natural  tone !  Meantime,  Arthur's  Crag,  close  be- 
hind me,  was  in  dark  blood-like  crimson,  and  the  sharp- 
shooters were  behind  exercising  minutely,  and  had  chosen 
that  place  on  account  of  the  fine  thunder  echo  which,  in- 
deed, it  would  be  scarcely  possible  for  the  ear  to  distin- 
guish from  thunder.  The  passing  a  day  or  two,  quite 
unknown,  in  a  strange  city,  does  a  man's  heart  good.  He 
rises  "  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man." 

I  had  not  read  that  part  in  your  second  requesting  me 
to  call  on  Elmsley,  else  perhaps  I  should  have  been  talk- 
ing instead  of  learning  and  feeling. 

Walter  Scott  is  at  Lasswade,  five  or  six  miles  from 
Edinburgh.  His  house  in  Edinburgh  is  divinely  situated. 
It  looks  up  a  street,  a  new  magnificent  street,  full  upon 
the  rock  and  the  castle,  with  its  zigzag  walls  like  painters' 
lightning  —  the  other  way  down  upon  cultivated  fields,  a 
fine  expanse  of  water,  either  a  lake  or  not  to  be  distin- 
guished from  one,  and  low  pleasing  hills  beyond  —  the 
country  well  wooded  and  cheerful.  "  I'  faith,"  I  exclaimed, 
"  the  monks  formerly,  but  the  poets  now,  know  where  to 
fix  their  habitations."  There  are  about  four  things  worth 


440  A  LAKE  POET  [DEC. 

going  into  Scotland  for,1  to  one  who  has  been  in  Cumber- 
land and  Westmoreland:  First,  the  views  of  all  the 
islands  at  the  foot  of  Loch  Lomond  from  the  top  of  the 
highest  island  called  Inch  devanna  (sic) ;  secondly,  the 
Trossachs  at  the  foot  of  Loch  Katrine ;  third,  the  chamber 
and  ante-chamber  of  the  Falls  of  Foyers  (the  fall  itself  is 
very  fine,  and  so,  after  rain,  is  White-Water  Dash,  seven 
miles  below  Keswick  and  very  like  it) ;  and  how  little  dif- 
ference a  height  makes,  you  know  as  well  as  I.  No  fall 
of  itself,  perhaps,  can  be  worth  giving  a  long  journey  to 
see,  to  him  who  has  seen  any  fall  of  water,  but  the  pool 
and  whole  rent  of  the  mountain  is  truly  magnificent. 
Fourthly  and  lastly,  the  City  of  Edinburgh.  Perhaps  I 
might  add  Glencoe.  It  is  at  all  events  a  good  make- 
weight and  very  well  worth  going  to  see,  if  a  man  be  a 
Tory  and  hate  the  memory  of  William  the  Third,  which  I 
am  very  willing  to  do ;  for  the  more  of  these  fellows  dead 
and  living  one  hates,  the  less  spleen  and  gall  there  remains 
for  those  with  whom  one  is  likely  to  have  anything  to  do 
in  real  life.  .  .  . 

I  am  tolerably  well,  meaning  the  day.  My  last  night 
was  not  such  a  noisy  night  of  horrors  as  three  nights  out 
of  four  are  with  me.2  O  God !  when  a  man  blesses  the 
loud  screams  of  agony  that  awake  him  night  after  night, 
night  after  night,  and  when  a  man's  repeated  night 
screams  have  made  him  a  nuisance  in  his  own  house,  it  is 
better  to  die  than  to  live.  I  have  a  joy  in  life  that  passeth 
all  understanding;  but  it  is  not  in  its  present  Epiphany 
and  Incarnation.  Bodily  torture !  All  who  have  been 
with  me  can  bear  witness  that  I  can  bear  it  like  an  Indian. 
It  is  constitutional  with  me  to  sit  still,  and  look  earnestly 
upon  it  and  ask  it  what  it  is  ?  Yea,  often  and  often,  the 

1  Compare   Table   Talk,  for  Sep-  2  The  same  sentence  occurs  in  a 

tember  26,   1830,   where  a  similar  letter   to  Sir   G.   Beaumont,   dated 

statement  is  made   in  almost    the  September  22,  1803.     Coleorton  Let' 

same  words.  ters,  i.  6. 


1803]  TO  MATTHEW  COATES  441 

seeds  of  Rabelaisism  germinating  in  me,  I  have  laughed 
aloud  at  my  own  poor  metaphysical  soul.  But  these  burrs 
by  day  of  the  will  and  the  reason,  these  total  eclipses  by 
night !  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  bear  them.  I  am  complaining 
bitterly  to  others,  I  should  be  administrating  comfort; 
but  even  this  is  one  way  of  comfort.  There  are  states  ^f 
mind  in  which  even  distraction  is  still  a  diversion  ;  we 
must  none  of  us  brood ;  we  are  not  made  to  be  brooders. 

God  bless  you,  dear  friend,  and 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

Mrs.  C.  will  get  clean  flannels  ready  for  me. 

CXLIII.   TO  MATTHEW  COATES.1 

GBETA  HALL,  KESWICK,  December  5,  1803. 
DEAR  SIR,  —  After  a  time  of  sufferings,  great  as  mere 
bodily  sufferings  can  well  be  conceived  to  be,  and  which 
the  horrors  of  my  sleep  and  night  screams  (so  loud  and 
so  frequent  as  to  make  me  almost  a  nuisance  in  my  own 
house)  seemed  to  carry  beyond  mere  body,  counterfeiting 
as  it  were  the  tortures  of  guilt,  and  what  we  are  told  of 
the  punishment  of  a  spiritual  world,  I  am  at  length  a 
convalescent,  but  dreading  such  another  bout  as  much  as 
I  dare  dread  a  thing  which  has  no  immediate  connection 
with  my  conscience.  My  left  hand  is  swollen  and  in- 
flamed, and  the  least  attempt  to  bend  the  fingers  very 
painful,  though  not  half  as  much  so  as  I  could  wish ;  for 
if  I  could  but  fix  this  Jack-o'-lanthorn  of  a  disease  in  my 
hand  or  foot,  I  should  expect  complete  recovery  in  a  year 
or  two !  But  though  I  have  no  hope  of  this,  I  have  a 
persuasion  strong  as  fate,  that  from  twelve  to  eighteen 
months'  residence  in  a  genial  climate  would  send  me  back 
to  dear  old  England  a  sample  of  the  first  resurrection. 
Mr.  Wordsworth,  who  has  seen  me  in  all  my  illnesses  for 

1  The  MS.  of  this  letter  was  given  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  except 
to  my  father  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wre-  that  he  was  "  Matthew  Coates,  Esq., 
ford.  I  know  nothing  of  the  person  of  Bristol." 


442  A  LAKE  POET  [DEC. 

nearly  four  years,  and  noticed  this  strange  dependence 
on  the  state  of  my  moral  feelings  and  the  state  of  the 
atmosphere  conjointly,  is  decidedly  of  the  same  opinion. 
Accordingly,  after  many  sore  struggles  of  mind  from 
reluctance  to  quit  my  children  for  so  long  a  time,  I  have 
arranged  my  affairs  fully  and  finally,  and  hope  to  set  sail 
for  Madeira  in  the  first  vessel  that  clears  out  from  Liver- 
pool for  that  place.  Robert  Southey,  who  lives  with  us, 
informed  me  that  Mrs.  Matthew  Coates  had  a  near  relative 
(a  brother,  I  believe)  in  that  island,  the  Dr.  Adams l  who 
wrote  a  very  nice  little  pamphlet  on  Madeira,  relative  to 
the  different  sorts  of  consumption,  and  which  I  have  now 
on  my  desk.  I  need  not  say  that  it  would  be  a  great 
comfort  to  me  to  be  introduced  to  him  by  a  letter  from 
you  or  Mrs.  Coates,  entreating  him  to  put  me  in  a  way  of 
living  as  cheaply  as  possible.  I  have  no  appetites,  pas- 
sions, or  vanities  which  lead  to  expense ;  it  is  now  absolute 
habit  to  me,  indeed,  to  consider  my  eating  and  drinking 
as  a  course  of  medicine.  In  books  only  am  I  intemperate 
—  they  have  been  both  bane  and  blessing  to  me.  For 
the  last  three  years  I  have  not  read  less  than  eight  hours 
a  day  whenever  I  have  been  well  enough  to  be  out  of  bed, 
or  even  to  sit  up  in  it.  Quiet,  therefore,  a  comfortable 
bedxand  bedroom,  and  still  better  than  that,  the  comfort 
of  kind  faces,  English  tongues,  and  English  hearts  now 
and  then,  —  this  is  the  sum  total  of  my  wants,  as  it  is  a 
thing  which  I  need.  I  am  far  too  contented  with  solitude. 
The  same  fullness  of  mind,  the  same  crowding  of  thoughts 
and  constitutional  vivacity  of  feeling  which  makes  me 
sometimes  the  first  fiddle,  and  too  often  a  watchman's 
rattle  in  society,  renders  me  likewise  independent  of  its 
excitements.  However,  I  am  wondrously  calmed  down 
since  you  saw  me  —  perhaps  through  this  unremitting 
disease,  affliction,  and  self-discipline. 

1  Dr.  Joseph  Adams,  the  biogra-     mended   Coleridge   to  the   care   of 
pher  of  Hunter,  who  in  1816  recom-     Mr.  James  Gillman. 


1803]  TO  MATTHEW  COATES  443 

Mrs.  Coleridge  desires  me  to  remember  her  with  re- 
spectful regards  to  Mrs.  Coates,  and  to  enquire  into  the 
history  of  your  little  family.  I  have  three  children, 
Hartley,  seven  years  old,  Derwent,  three  years,  and 
Sara,  one  year  on  the  23d  of  this  month.  Hartley  is 
considered  a  genius  by  Wordsworth  and  Southey  ;  indeed 
by  every  one  who  has  seen  much  of  him.  But  what  is  of 
much  more  consequence  and  much  less  doubtful,  he  has 
the  sweetest  temper  and  most  awakened  moral  feelings  of 
any  child  I  ever  saw.  He  is  very  backward  in  his  book- 
learning,  cannot  write  at  all,  and  a  very  lame  reader. 
We  have  never  been  anxious  about  it,  taking  it  for 
granted  that  loving  me,  and  seeing  how  I  love  books,  he 
would  come  to  it  of  his  own  accord,  and  so  it  has  proved, 
for  in  the  last  month  he  has  made  more  progress  than  in 
all  his  former  life.  Having  learnt  everything  almost 
from  the  mouths  of  people  whom  he  loves,  he  has  con- 
nected with  his  words  and  notions  a  passion  and  a  feeling 
which  would  appear  strange  to  those  who  had  seen  no 
children  but  such  as  had  been  taught  almost  everything 
in  books.  Derwent  is  a  large,  fat,  beautiful  child,  quite 
the  pride  of  the  village,  as  Hartley  is  the  darling. 
Southey  says  wickedly  that  "  all  Hartley's  guts  are  in 
his  brains,  and  all  Derwent's  brains  are  in  his  guts." 
Verily  the  constitutional  differences  in  the  children  are 
great  indeed.  From  earliest  infancy  Hartley  was  absent, 
a  mere  dreamer  at  his  meals,  put  the  food  into  his  mouth 
by  one  effort,  and  made  a  second  effort  to  remember  it 
was  there  and  swallow  it.  With  little  Derwent  it  is  a 
time  of  rapture  and  jubilee,  and  any  story  that  has  not 
pie  or  cake  in  it  comes  very  flat  to  him.  Yet  he  is  but  a 
baby.  Our  girl  is  a  darling  little  thing,  with  large  blue 
eyes,  a  quiet  creature  that,  as  I  have  often  said,  seems  to 
bask  in  a  sunshine  as  mild  as  moonlight,  of  her  own  hap- 
piness. Oh !  bless  them !  Next  to  the  Bible,  Shake- 
speare, and  Milton,  they  are  the  three  books  from  which  I 


444  A  LAKE  POET  [DEC. 

have  learned  the  most,  and  the  most  important  and  with 
the  greatest  delight. 

I  have  been  thus  prolix  about  me  and  mine  purposely, 
to  induce  you  to  tell  me  something  of  yourself  and  yours. 

Believe  me,  I  have  never  ceased  to  think  of  you  with 
respect  and  a  sort  of  yearning.  You  were  the  first  man 
from  whom  I  heard  that  article  of  my  faith  enunciated 
which  is  the  nearest  to  my  heart,  —  the  pure  fountain  of 
all  my  moral  and  religious  feelings  and  comforts,  —  I 
mean  the  absolute  Impersonality  of  the  Deity. 

I  remain,  my  dear  sir,  with  unfeigned  esteem  and  with 
good  wishes,  ever  yours, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


knXU  <A» 


. 


•\     XYA>